


Those Who Tell The Truth Shall Die, Those Who Tell The Truth Shall Live Forever

by Heroesareoverwith



Series: Explosions In The Sky [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Good Peter, M/M, Major Character Injury, Major Character Undeath, Oh my god third booookk, Pining, References to Drug Use, Violent, more tags to come idk how to tag, the seer is a dick, we don't know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-03-30 03:24:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 31,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3921118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heroesareoverwith/pseuds/Heroesareoverwith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The third book in the Explosions In The Sky series.  Peter has begun his steps to being Alpha again.  Stiles is practicing his magic with a new instructor, and is none-the-wiser to Peter's plans.  With his new crush realized, and Peter's supposed mutual affection, will it all fall apart in a ball of fire?  Yes, probably.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Greet Death

**Author's Note:**

> THIRD BOOK WWOOOOO
> 
> Thank you everyone for the comments and encouragement! I am so thrilled to hear that you like this series, it has been a huge undertaking, and I am really pleased with the reception it's received. You guys are amazing and I hope you like this book too! The fourth book is what I am personally excited for though. :]
> 
> Thanks Cloveed!!!
> 
> (I am submitting this during a tornado warning yay! God I am rushing oh god)

"We need to meet again, Wolf. The next step is coming."

The words drifted into his mind halfway through making lunch for himself and Stiles. Peter stopped immediately, disliking the chill that suddenly filled his apartment. It was almost like each and every time the seer spoke to him, the smell from the cave came rushing back into his mind, permeated his apartment. With a glance back at the door, because Stiles still didn't know about the situation and for some reason the wolf was almost nervous that he had heard, Peter nodded slowly. It didn't matter whether or not the creature could see, or sense, or anything else, but Peter was not about to give verbal confirmation with the teen nearby.

At least the action seemed satisfactory enough, because as quickly as the presence had come, it faded again, receding back into the corners of the room before there was nothing. Peter took a deep breath, trying to calm the bristle that had risen in him. He was aware, over all, that this creature meant harm. It knew too much about his life, too much about his family. Seers could read the future, not the past. This thing had done extensive research on him, and that was an invasion of privacy that the wolf was not ready to overlook.

It needed an Alpha, obviously, and the nearest Alpha was probably a few hours away. Scott might even be the closest one, at least to Peter's knowledge. But _why_ it needed an Alpha, he hadn't quite figured out. Why settle here and not somewhere more populated with werewolves? Why search out _Peter_ , if it knew that Peter had failed as an Alpha before?  
There were too many pieces that didn't quite fit together, and that combined with the overall malevolent feel of the creature--well, in the end, the outlook was bleak. It wasn't just making him an Alpha out of the kindness of its heart, there was clearly some kind of motive.

That didn't mean that Peter wasn't intrigued, though.

The creature most likely assumed that Peter was not prepared, or that he hadn't been thinking of the possibility of a betrayal, hadn't been planning on it. When Peter was an Alpha, he had been so hopped up on the power kick, on thirst for revenge, he hadn't been thinking clearly. If his reputation proceeded him, if that's what the creature was basing its moves off of, then Peter had the advantage. It most likely hoped that Peter craved the Alpha power back to the point he wouldn't care what he had to do, or what traps might set in his way. The creature wanted him to be so single-minded and gullible that he wouldn't fathom a plan of manipulative attack in return.

Luckily, Peter was not that kind of person.

True, he did thirst for power. It was a craving he'd had since he was younger and he didn't ever see it going away. Yes, he enjoyed manipulation; he enjoyed playing with people because it just made them that much more interesting, that much more fun. Plus, most of the time it was just so _easy_ , how could he not? No, he didn't necessarily care about life in the way that most others did. He was born of a terrifying race of creature, and honestly hiding in the shadows and pretending that he was not more powerful than humans was torturous. Humans, in essence, were below him. Most of them.

The biggest flaw in the creature's plan was, however, that Peter wasn't stupid.

No, Peter had never been stupid, or naive, or gullible. Why be made the fool when you can do the fooling?

Peter would much rather, for his entire life, be viewed as a horrible, terrible, monstrous person, rather than be viewed as gullible, like Derek, or even worse, a fool. Very much like his _kill or be killed mentality_ , it was the idea of survival. Be the predator, don't be the prey.

It it was one of his more triumphant, skillful moments, he could pull off _playing_ the prey _while_ being the predator. The fundamental deception he based his actions on so superbly described by King Richard, Lady Macbeth! " _And seem the saint, when most I play the devil_ ," or " _Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under't_." They were quotes Peter had chosen to live by, to embody, absorb into himself like it was unwritten law.

Eat or be eaten. How many times had writers and philosophers before him mentioned and stressed the importance of this ability.

It was only more recent that people began to choose this unshakable, virtuous morality as a way to live life, and Peter didn't agree with it. He preferred doing whatever he needed to for survival, preferred to work toward his own success. The ends have to justify the means, always.

Scott could be as kind and pure hearted as he wanted, but in the end, how often had he looked like a fool?

Peter could never follow or agree with that kind of lifestyle.

Except...

"Oh my God, what is taking you so long?" Stiles asked, coming through the doorway and walking right up to Peter's side.

He'd been...different, somehow. After he'd come back from spring break, there had been something changed in his personality. And it wasn't a bad thing, per say. Just unusual. Peter wasn't exactly sure what he could make of it. The boy seemed to get more obviously being edging closer and closer into Peter's, or at least was more comfortable being near him, around him. Stiles was smiling more, and sometimes shyly looking away, one of those soft smiles on his lips. Stiles was telling more jokes, or was just all around more chipper. And there was this smell that seemed to wrap anxiously around the teen, too afraid to make itself prominent and yet too distinct to be covered completely. 

He seemed okay giving Peter more small touches. Touches to his shoulder, or back, or moving so close they would brush against each other.

For the first day, Peter wondered if Stiles had figured something out and that the teen, for once, was messing with Peter to see what reactions he could get out of the wolf. And Peter, stubbornly as always, made sure that there was no reaction to give. He accepted the small touches and the intrusion on his space, didn't mention the soft smiles or the absolutely terrible jokes.

It was dangerous, letting Stiles get this close to him, but Peter couldn't seem to tell the boy to back off. In fact, he reveled in the small things just as much as Stiles seemed to.

On some odd, hopeful level Peter believed it would only last a day or two, and that Stiles would snap out of it, that he would go back to keeping a distance. Not because Peter wasn't enjoying the attentions, but because he _was_ enjoying them. Maybe if Stiles realized his mistake, realized the danger, then he would stop being so forward and go back to being on guard around the wolf constantly, and then Peter could get these ridiculous ideas out of his head like Stiles might actually...Though that didn't seem to be happening.

Stiles didn't spend every hour at Peter's apartment or anything however, the boy still went to classes, still hung out with friends, and since there was no immediate supernatural threat, seemed to be relaxing a little bit more. But the boy still came over at least once a day, whether it was to have lunch or to study. Peter's apartment was still apparently quieter than the library.

Even worse, Peter had celebrated the boy's birthday with him. Taken him out, reluctantly on Peter's end, for horrible, foul-tasting, foul-smelling fast food burgers and curly fries. God, the older man regretted it. But it made Stiles lighten up, and how could Peter deny him that? Peter had even gotten him a few new magic books as a present, finding it curious yet significant that he was even celebrating a birthday with someone. When was the last time he had bought someone a present?

Stiles had also begged to know when Peter's birthday was.

That was definitely not happening.

Still, the boy had been genuine, and sweet, and appreciative. And the wolf had softened, just a bit.

It had been a week since then, and they were getting into mid-April. Stiles had been back in class for a little over two weeks, and was studying hard, both for school and magic. He was improving without end, it seemed. Too quickly for Peter to keep up with it. Stiles would need to find a better teacher soon. Possibly Mizuki, if she were up for it. If she promised not to try to corrupt him.

But for right then, they were simply...enjoying each other's company.

Peter had missed the boy more than he cared to admit over the week of absence, and it had sickened him, frightened him that he could still feel that way about someone. Peter wasn't supposed to miss people, but every time he had gone out into his living room, and his couch had been empty, it had nearly ached.

He hadn't spent a lot of time at home.

Even Stiles' smell had begun to disappear, and Peter found himself trying to block possible cracks in windows to keep it in, the irony not lost on him that only a few months ago he was trying to make the smell escape completely.

It was pathetic.

"Craftsmanship of this caliber takes time," Peter finally answered Stiles, scooping a spoonful of gooey-cheese covered noodles into a bowl and handing it to Stiles.

"You literally made me mac and cheese, like, Craft makes this, and it can be made in, like, fifteen minutes. This really isn't that impressive." Stiles went to grab a fork and shoved in a mouthful of the food before his eyes practically rolled back in his head. " _Oh my God_ , I take it back. You take as long as you need next time."

He exited the kitchen again, making soft groans and moans while he ate, and collapsed on the couch.

Peter rolled his eyes, but got himself a bowl too. Those moans would be the death of him one day.

Hell, they were the main reason Peter even bothered cooking.

***

Once again, Peter found himself walking down the long path to the shack, the entrance to a cave. Normally, he wouldn't jump through hoops like this, come when called and follow demands. In all honestly, he should have torn the creature's head off the first time it began appearing during magic training. But Peter really was interested. If the creature could make him Alpha again, despite the fact it thought it was fooling him and planning to use him for some purpose, then why wouldn't he at least try? He just needed to stay on his toes and refuse to put his guard down.

It wasn't like he would be the same Alpha as he had been before either. He was much more sane now.

And sure, Stiles would be taken aback, maybe even a little pissed, but when he realized that Peter hadn't killed Scott to regain power, then he couldn't be that upset, correct? Not that Stiles had to know Peter had killed anyone to regain the power, anyway. It wasn't _important_ for Stiles to know of the murder, so he wasn't going to.

How could Stiles turn down someone with power like that?

Really?

It wouldn't be a replay of the time in the parking garage. Stiles had felt some heroic need to turn Peter down then, and this time wouldn't be the same. Though Peter didn't imagine Stiles would be any more likely to take the bite this time around, not that Peter would push it, he supposed. He didn't need Stiles to take the bite he just needed Stiles, in all his human warlock glory. Even if they _would_ be a fearsome werewolf team together. He and Stiles would have had the most powerful pack in the country, and each decision for a new pack member would be strict, unlike Derek's decisions.

They would be terrifying, and yet werewolf royalty.

With Stiles at his side.

However, this vision wasn't based on Stiles' being a werewolf. They could be just as powerful with Stiles just as he was. With Sties trusting Peter.

"You're not often lost in thought, Wolf," the creature's voice came to him while he walked down the long tunnel leading to the wooden door.

There were still specks of light, indicators that there was a fire burning deep within the cave. Peter imagined reaching out and grabbing one of the beams of light. "I need some kind of distraction from the smell of this hovel," he answered.

The seer didn't speak again until Peter had pushed open the wooden door and placed himself in front of the hunched over figure. Its presence was more powerful than the actual creature was. Which wasn't a bad thing. Sometimes it didn't hurt to have a power like that. It got inside the enemy's mind quicker. If something feels more intimidating than it looks, why would they chance it? It was the same trick as a haunted house, everything about it looked sinister, but in the end it was just a crumbling foundation and weak walls.

"So what are you so insistent upon now?" Peter asked, wrinkling his nose in disgust as he placed his hands on the floor of the cave to adjust his position. What had possibly touched the floor where he was putting his hands?

"I have a warning, and a time."

"I'm really running out of patience for the riddles."

The creature sneered slightly, its false-kind composure slipping away with each of Peter's visits. Did it really not expect him to notice? Where had the slightly senile, yet riddling old man gone? All that was left was a growling, caged animal, baring its teeth uselessly. "Then you can forget the deal."

Rolling his eyes, Peter sighed dramatically and waved his hand for the creature to continue. "Then get on with it. I'm rather busy of late."

"Yes, I know _with whom_ you're busy," the seer mentioned, and it sounded like a threat.

Peter needed to force his wolf from bristling at the very idea of this creature knowing Stiles. But he remained calm, his voice level. "Three questions, I assume."

"And I will, out of good will and kindness, inform you of the warning after."

"How noble," Peter drawled. But before the creature could hiss at him, he added. "What do I need to do for this display of power, as you called it?"

Silent for a moment, the seer took in a raspy breath. "Gain power over one who took it from you, the one responsible for your downfall. Display that you have something that they hold dear, and keep it from them. Only then, when you out power the powerful, will you be ready to complete the trials for Alpha."

It was either Scott or Derek, and Peter didn't imagine that Derek really had anything that Peter didn't have already. "What is it that I have to hold over dear Scott's head?"

"Someone he loves."

"Well, I'm not dating Melissa again, I fear she's done with me," Peter mocked, hand falling over his heart. He could only imagine where this was going.

"Last question, Wolf," it hissed, not amused by his theatrics, and also not ready to elaborate on who said loved-one was. Peter didn't need the creature to tell him, however. It was clear as day.

"When should I begin this petty show of masculinity?"

"Before the next new moon."

"That's two days from now. You want me to go to Beacon hills and have a show off with Scott in two days?"

"If it's not simple for you Wolf, then why am I making this deal with you in the first place?"

Running through more hoops, of course. How far would Peter actually let this creature drag him around?

Well, until the ends of the earth if that's what made him Alpha again.

Peter closed his eyes a moment before looking up into the air, as if begging for some kind of strength not to slash apart the creature in front of him, before he pricked his finger and held it out. "Fine, two days it is."

"So eager, Wolf, and yet you shouldn't be. Quickness causes mistakes," the creature answered, holding up a hand to block Peter's finger. "You forget. I can't get my payment until you learn of your warning."

"Shocking. What is this terrible warning?"

"Your life is coming to an end, Wolf."

It was abrupt, and seemed to echo off the walls of the cave. Peter sat there, staring at the seer with confusion, maybe irritation. Why even bother to make him go through these "Alpha Trials" if he was just going to die? When had this even been a factor? Peter wasn't about to die. "Interesting. And how did you reach that conclusion?"

"I have seen it," the creature hissed out. "In many of the time lines, it is unavoidable. You are going to die."

"Then what is the point of me working to become Alpha, if I am, apparently, just going to drop dead?"

"Because you can change your fate with my help." The creature said, trying to shove some feigned hope into his tone.

"Who would have guessed?" Peter muttered sardonically to himself.

"You need to follow each and every one of my instructions, or you will greet Death."

"I'm sure he's very charming."

"Quiet, Hale," it hissed, obviously becoming more impatient with Peter's side remarks. The wolf closed his mouth to let it continue. "If you do not complete this display of power, if you do not murder, then you will die. No exception to it. There are only two directions your life can take from here. To listen to me, and live, or to fail me, and die."

"I'm still waiting, through all your pontificating, to be told on how this benefits you," Peter let the creature know. Felt his eyes narrow. "You never have informed me."

"You have much potential..."

"Still not an answer."

The seer simply breathed loudly, like this conversation had wasted him of energy, before he held out his hand, tried to coax Peter into lifting up his finger once more. The wolf listened, wiping the blood off on the seer's tongue before standing up from his spot.

But the creature didn't deflate like it normally seemed to. Instead, it sat up straighter, watched him even though it didn't have eyes. "Each one of my instructions, or you will fail, and you will die."

"And what are your instructions, pray tell?"

"All in due time. You will know when you meet with the McCall boy."

Stiffening his back slightly, Peter eyed the seer for a long time, both of them on full alert, a quiet tension crackling in the air between them. Peter wasn't about to die, but he wasn't a trained dog either. This creature apparently didn't know that about him. It was trying to use vague speech to steer Peter from something important, something he was missing.

"Do it, Wolf," the creature threatened. "You don't want to greet Death."

Without another word, from the both of them, the werewolf turned on his heel and exited the cave, his head swimming with multiple issues. If he had to assert some kind of dominance over Scott, that would be difficult, for various reasons. And if Stiles ever found out that Peter was using him as some kind of a tool to boost his Alpha hood, the teen would...probably leave him, honestly.

But Scott, for as much Hell as Peter gave him, wasn't actually stupid, and he was very protective, and very loyal. This whole situation could get very complicated very quickly, and yet somehow Peter's blood was racing from even the thought of dying. There wasn't much that the seer had been truthful on, even though Peter could never hear the uptick in heartbeat, but death wasn't something to ponder over. Or play with. Peter's main survival instinct was to do anything in the name of self-preservation, whether it was a serious threat or not.

So here he was, needing to face Scott to make sure that he stayed alive. Hilarious cruel irony. The boy had been the entire reason Peter hadn't kept his Alpha status to begin with. He couldn't be bought, couldn't be pulled over to Peter's side.

But was that really Scott's doing? Or was that Stiles'?

Stiles had trained Scott. Stiles had kept Scott chained up. Stiles had done the research, protected the others, talked Scott down.

And all the while, Scott had only ever been focused on Allison. Allison. Allison was his anchor, was she? Or were thoughts of her just enough to snap him out of his aggression?

Stiles was the real anchor. Stiles kept Scott human, while Scott kept Stiles good.

Stiles had now killed someone. Stiles wasn't, necessarily, still _good_.

So did that mean Scott could be made into an animal?

Would Stiles choose Peter, at this point, over Scott? The wolf knew that the boys weren't as close, that they weren't getting along, but that didn't mean that Stiles' choice, each and every time, wouldn't be Scott. They had been attached at the hip for so long, after all. Scott was Stiles', Stiles was Scott's.

Peter ignored the low growl that came out of his throat at that thought. Ignored his knuckles whitening as his hands curled into fists.

When had he ever been this possessive?

***

Stiles had been less than pleased when Peter informed the boy that he had to leave for a few days. It wasn't the same rejection that Stiles had seemed to develop after the times Peter told him to go home and rest, but there was some deep seeded anxiousness there. Like he was afraid that Peter wasn't going to come back. Not that Peter could blame him. How many people had left Stiles, or disappeared, or died? Peter could get kidnapped by hunters and not return. It was a possibility.

In a way, Peter had enjoyed the anxiousness though, the knowledge that someone actually feared if he didn't return. It wasn't a healthy emotion, no, but when had Peter ever really had healthy emotions? Still, Peter had smirked, and told Stiles to consider it a little spring break on Peter's end this time.

Except then Stiles had grown this kind of fury, thought that Peter wasn't telling him about a new investigation.

The joy he had gotten at the thought of Stiles missing him seemed to seep away after that. It was for a supernatural reason, even if it wasn't an investigation, but Peter really couldn't tell Stiles what it was about. Didn't want to tell Stiles. The wolf didn't need to base all of his decisions off of Stiles, because, despite Peter's feelings, Stiles wasn't ranked at mate level, wasn't equal. Stiles wasn't that important. Or was he? Whatever, he didn't need to explain himself to the boy.

So regardless of Stiles' irritation, Peter left.

It hadn't been the long goodbye that they had had before Stiles left for spring break, and Peter almost regretted it. Their entire companionship could potentially fall apart after this decision anyway, if Scott notified Stiles about the meeting and said the right things. Peter and Stiles' partnership would cease to exist, and Stiles would run to Scott with apologies and warm feelings. And Stiles wouldn't think twice about Peter, feeling betrayed, and Peter would have never had a real proper goodbye.

Then maybe Peter could get his emotions in check, could go back to his usual routine, and that would just be _better_ , wouldn't it?

Smarter, maybe.

The wolf arrived in Beacon Hills later that day, picking a hotel on the outskirts of the town because that was just more comfortable. The next night would be the new moon, so Peter needed to talk to Scott in the morning, maybe afternoon-after all, the teen did still have school, didn't he? It would all work out in one way or another.

The creature had told him what to do, what to say, on the drive up, but Peter didn't listen all too closely. He could create his own plans. It was completely useless for this thing to think it could control him any more than on a baseline. He didn't need words put in his mouth too. He didn't want to jump through that many hoops. Besides, plans never worked out, and the creature didn't know Scott as well as Peter did, not that that was saying much.

As he entered Beacon Hills, he glanced around, took in the things that had changed since he left. Reminded himself of the things that had changed since he was a child.

Beacon Hills was so different now. There was some kind of malignant nostalgia that came with growing up in the same place, living there for most of your life, and then realizing that it would never be the same, but always secretly hoping it would be. Peter hated looking back on the past, but that didn't mean it didn't come to him without his approval. A place that used to feel like comfort, home, no longer felt like that. So what was he really supposed to call home now? What happened to the person who realized that the place they grew up in wasn't where they belonged?

Identity crisis, that's what. The dreadful, pining question of "who am I?" A question that Peter so desperately hoped to avoid. He was him, and that was it.

Now, if only the place didn't smell like cinder and ash whenever he came back. Maybe a touch of copper metallic, burnt meat. It never went away, not really. But Beacon Hills might be a little bit more warming if it didn't bring back reminders of the fire.

Should he go to the preserve? Go see his old home? It was probably a gesture of respect, remembrance, but Peter had no desire to go and stir up old ghosts. He hated the preserve, he hated the old charred ruins of the house, no matter how much Derek apparently liked to squat in them. Peter had gotten out of the house as soon as he could when he'd turned eighteen. Being trapped inside with the rest of his family had been suffocating. Oh the irony. And even though it might be a respectful gesture for him to go now, he still had no desire.

Peter chose, instead, to visit some of his favorite restaurants instead, and other little hidden areas around the town. There was a restlessness inside of him, and he could guess where the restlessness came from, but didn't actually want to think about it. He didn't want to admit that that restlessness could be from not having Stiles around. The restlessness reminded him that he thought of Stiles like home now. An equal lead to identity crisis.

So, Peter bided his time until he decided a good hour to meet with Scott. He no longer knew the pack's schedules, but he could guess. 

Scott still probably played lacrosse, so he would be staying late at the school. Peter could choose between the stereotypical meeting in the school, or the stereotypical meeting in the parking lot, or maybe just find him somewhere along the way home. There were so many choices, and it had been so long since he had to stalk after someone, oh how he missed the feeling.

However, he needed to be sly about this. He couldn't confront Scott, or else the boy would tell Stiles that Peter had purposefully come to visit him. Then that would start a whole other problem, one of which Stiles would demand to know why Peter went all the way to Beacon Hills to talk to Scott. No, this needed to be accidentally on purpose, just as his meeting with Stiles had been at the university.

But Scott wasn't exactly going into bookstores all the time, was he?

However, he did go to the hospital. He did go see his mother.

So the wolf made his way to the hospital, trying to think of a million reasons on just _why_ he would need to go there. He couldn't just pop in to stop by, could he?

Peter strode in, headed for the first desk he saw. No one seemed to recognize him. He had been at the hospital several times before, was visited by nurses while he was in the home, and yet no one gave him a second glance. At least, not until he saw Melissa.

When he saw her, he offered her his most charming smile, and a wave for good measure. The woman was already taking out her phone to text Scott. Where was the trust?

"Melissa, darling-" Peter started, before she held up a finger while narrowing her eyes.

"You do not get to 'darling' me, ever, not at all. What are you here for? Last I heard you left with Derek."

"Well, pleasure to see you again as well," Peter answered, smile dropping from his face immediately. "I have some left over paper work with my old apartment to settle at last, and also a person to meet with and check into who seems interested in the preserve property. I haven't yet spoken to Derek about it quite yet, though I am a bit more qualified to deal with the situation than my nephew is." He reached his hands up in a half-hearted shrug.

"Then why are you _here_?"

"Driving by and I found it was just easier to refill my prescriptions in person than have to have a long, tiring phone call."

"We would have preferred the phone call," Melissa answered plainly, before adding in a dawning of realization. "Why do you need prescriptions anyway? You're a werewolf."

"No so loud, dear," he smirked and shrugged a shoulder. "They're pain killers; maybe I need them for nefarious reasons."

"Well, now you're _really_ not getting them."

And right on time, Peter heard a loud and familiar heartbeat just outside the door, beating rabbit-fast. Scott had just coming _running_ to see him, all in protection of the Alpha's mother, Peter supposed. He slowly turned, smiled at the teenager.

"Why, Scott," he said with honey-like smoothness. Helped mask the sarcasm. "You've finally done something with that hair."

"What are you here for Peter? Get away from my mom," Scott said, glaring in his best interpretation of someone with any kind of authority. It was _cute_.

"Really, both of your hospitalities need work."

"I said--" Scott paused, took in a deep breath. In a matter of moments, his eyes went from a mild irritation to a fiery rage. His tone dropped low, eyes flashed red, his cheek twitched. "Why the Hell do you smell like Stiles?"

"Stiles?" Peter asked, again, sweet as can be. "Oh, it must be because we managed to run into each other at his university. Rather funny story actually--"

Scott was in front of Peter in an instant, his anger getting the better of him, grabbing a hold of Peter and _threatening_ , and it was exactly what Peter wanted. The older wolf held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. Well, gestures meant nothing.

Melissa jumped between them immediately. "Whoa buddy; calm down, Scott, you need to back off. You are in public and there are people watching."

"I don't care," Scott practically growled out, though he did manage to bring his eyes back to their normal color. His jaw strained so much the crookedness seemed emphasized.

"Don't be an idiot, Scott," Peter answered calmly, obviously not bothered in the least by the Alpha's attempted display of dominance. Scott would have done better to try to Alpha roll him. "I'm only here for a few things and then it's right on back to Palo Alto."

"With Stiles?" Scott growled again, though he did take a step back. "What, do you have him tied up in a room somewhere? What do you want with him?"

"I'm honestly hurt, Scotty," Peter sighed dramatically. "Can't two old packmates spend a little time together? From what I hear you haven't really been putting in the effort to spend time with him. Have you even visited once?"

"Whoa-" Melissa started, rounding on Peter now. Of course she would, her little baby bird suddenly looked like Peter had ripped his heart out. Literally. "That is none of your business."

"Actually, it's entirely my business," Peter answered sharply. "Ever since the boy started sleeping on my couch regularly, ever since I've seen the way he'll start to talk about home and then stop, it's entirely my business. Scott doesn't get to play protector anymore when he isn't even talking to him, and I know for a fact that Stiles has tried on his end."

It was a lot more truth than he meant to reveal, even if he was only saying it to hurt Scott. The truth hurt and all. But Peter still managed to get this possessive flare in his chest that seemed to rise out of his mouth, want to roast Scott where he stood. Scott _hurt_ Stiles, and Peter hadn't realized how much that had actually bothered him until this moment. The boys were supposed to be packmates, near brothers, and Scott was throwing a temper tantrum because he wasn't getting his way. Peter bore into Scott with his eyes, body completely stiff with tension, challenging in silence.

The Alpha stepped back, taken aback by the information, gaze down and avoiding the older male's in front of him. And that right there. That was a display of Peter's dominance over Scott. Scott stepped down. Scott, for just a moment, lost his Alpha power. And it was all thanks to Stiles.

The two McCalls seemed at a loss for words for a moment, Scott's lost, puppy eyes searching the floor for some kind of answer, Melissa looking at her son, hoping for words to console him. Then she looked back up at Peter, hardening her features. "You need to leave. Now."

Peter sniffed nonchalantly, brushed his shoulder against Scott's on his way out the door. "Call him to reaffirm the situation if you'd like, though I'd wager he'd like to know why it's any of _your_ business what he does at this point. Didn't know that Stiles making his own decisions about _his_ life was something he needed to run by you."

And then he was gone. 

In his mind, he could hear a soft, rasping chuckle--proof of a job well done, that he had succeeded in proving his dominance over an Alpha. And yet, with a glance back at Scott, the teen's fingers immediately rushing to his phone, lifting it up to his ear, a hand running through his hair and just grabbing, holding there, like he could hold his emotions that way while he frantically called Stiles, Peter didn't necessarily feel like he had succeeded. 

This should have been something sweet, something savored. Scott had been a thorn in Peter's side ever since he'd bitten the boy, and well...that thorn had been removed long ago, it wasn't there to feel relieved. Now something else was sticking in him. Something much sharper. Much closer to his heart.

Peter brushed it off. It didn't matter to him. It wasn't important in any way.

Scott looked up, met Peter's eyes, and Peter didn't have to strain his ears to know that Stiles really had asked his former Alpha why it was any of Scott's business to know what Stiles was doing with himself. The Alpha looked momentarily lost.

Revenge never did feel as good as the stories said.

But that didn't mean Peter didn't smirk at the teen and turn his back on him right then and there.

***

"You went to Beacon Hills?" Stiles asked, the volume of his voice rose higher than Peter had heard it in a while, nearing out shouting.

The wolf expected this. He knew that Stiles would get mad at him for going, knew he would get mad at him for seeing Scott, letting Scott find out. But he also didn't imagine it would last that long. This was the initial rage. This was the moment when Stiles was pissed before he would ask how Scott looked, how he was doing. So Peter just shrugged a shoulder.

"Do not just _not_ answer me," Stiles said, hands flying out to his sides, his more calm adult nature flying away with his emotions. "Why did you go to Beacon Hills and not tell me? What in the world were you doing at the hospital anyway?"

"I got a call about the property in the preserve, and I had some things to settle with my old apartment anyway," it was a lie, but it fell smoothly. His lies always did. Even to Stiles. His heart didn't even skip. "I went to the hospital to see if I could refill some of my old pain killer prescriptions, mostly because I want something here in the event you get hurt again."

Stiles deflated almost instantly. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"Well, I can't exactly go to a doctor here while I look perfectly well, now can I? They'd run tests and be blown away by my perfection."

Stiles rolled his eyes, crossed his arms tightly across his chest. "So what? You were doing this to protect me? Why the hell did you see Scott?"

"Melissa jumped me practically the moment I walked in the door. I'm not exactly her or Scott's favorite person now, am I? She texted Scott and the boy arrived, werewolf speed and all that."

"But--" Stiles started, obviously irritated he couldn't find a way to stay mad. "You went without me!"

"It was a day visit; I didn't imagine you would be all that entertained. It was comprised of me haggling with a person over land."

"But now...I could have...--my dad's going to find out. I could have broken this to him easier than how it's going to be hearing it from Melissa."

"I thought you told me that you'd told him about me already."

"I didn't specifically say _you_ , I guess, I don't know, I just said--" Stiles answered, exasperated and realizing that he was now the one who'd dug himself a hole. He struggled for words before throwing his hands out again. "God! Just let me be mad at you for like, at least a day! Maybe an hour!"

"But there are so many more things we could be doing in that time."

Stiles' face immediately pinked, and Peter cocked his head to the side. That did sound a bit like an innuendo, didn't it? "Magic, Stiles."

"O-oh, right, yeah, magic."

"How did your first two meetings with Mizuki go? Will she be allowing me to stop by yet?"

"She said one more time with her alone, and then you can come by. Thinks I'll still be too distracted..."

"And why would she ever think a thing like that?" Peter smirked, mostly because he knew he'd gotten away with this for now, at least now that he'd distracted Stiles away from his part in Beacon Hills. He'd gotten away with talking to Scott, gotten away with his display of power, of strength, and Stiles was still on his side. Stiles had chosen Peter over Scott, even if it was out of a childish stubbornness.

All that was left was the murder.

"You and Scott did patch things up though, didn't you? When he called?" Peter asked, like he really cared about Stiles being close to Scott again.

Stiles caved in on himself a bit more. "No. Not really. He told me he always thought I was the smart one...He didn't even try to listen, didn't care that you'd helped me learn magic, or even saved me. He just--"

Peter stood up then, came forward and lightly grabbed Stiles' wrist, pulled him off the couch. The boy groaned something about not wanting to move, but allowed Peter to drag him up. "Whenever you get that face, curly fries are a must." It was a good patch over a wound. Food cured everything for Stiles, at least if a case and research didn't.

"Hot damn, curly fries? Guess I need to get into a fight with Thomas and Jay next," Stiles gave a pathetic attempt of a smile, though he followed Peter out the door.

Peter didn't hate it, cheering Stiles up. Peter had never really done things that weren't for him. Kill or be killed, right? That also applied to emotions, in a way, don't display too much emotion, don't care about too much emotion. But there was something warming about Stiles grinning up at him. Something that made Peter not mind caring for someone else for a bit. 

Stiles was worth it.

***

Once more, Peter found himself in front of the seer, staring at the bumped skin that covered where its eyes should be. Letting his own eyes fall to the blue, spit-covered lips, the sharpened teeth. The thing honestly was hideous. Honestly was a ghastly, pathetic creature.

"Despite your inability to follow simple directions, things seemed to have worked out for the best," the creature told him, its voice slightly more rasped than it had been the last time he'd heard it. "One path that did not seem visible, at first."

"It's a habit of mine to surprise and amaze. I am rather awe inspiring."

"You've done well," it finally praised, though seemingly rather reluctantly.

What did it want from him? Why was it helping him become Alpha?

"There wasn't really a doubt, in my opinion," Peter answered smoothly, eyeing the creature slowly.

"No, I don't suppose there would be," it started speaking slowly, like it was anxious of something. "We have many things to discuss, however, and I would like to warn you again, the consequences of what should happen if you do not follow through with these steps, what should happen if you should fail the Alpha process..."

"If I remember, you threatened me with death," Peter answered, narrowing his eyes.

"Yes," the creature hesitated. "Death will be the only fate you'll face if you give up now, or do not succeed."

"Well then I don't really have a choice, do I?" Something started to feel off. Something was definitely off. The creature was holding back. Until this point, it had some kind of ecstatic joy, some sick pleasure out of the ideas of the trials. Now it seemed worried, in a way. Or something else, there was something else in the air.

Why hadn't Peter noticed the smell of decay sooner? It was covered by the other rancid smells in the cave, but suddenly, the smell of death, of rotting flesh, filled Peter's nose. And then it seemed to be everywhere, filled him, made the wolf feel the infection that spread through the seer's body. And it was something more prominent that Peter should have been paying attention to sooner, cursed himself that he didn't realize it.

Peter didn't need to greet death, he'd already met him. The creature was dead.

"Three questions, Wolf."

"Do I really even need three?" He played along. But what was the end game?

"You've just wasted one. Though I suppose, no, you don't need all three."

Peter rolled his eyes. Not so much vague talk today though, which was an odd relief. "Fine. Let's just cut to the chase. Just whom do I need to murder, for the final step in the Alpha process?"

Again, there was hesitation. Peter felt something close to a cold dread grab hold of his stomach. He wasn't going to like the answer, was he?

"You must kill one whom has grand magical skill, one with much _potential_." The last word slid off the creature's tongue like it knew it was setting up for a disaster. It knew that Peter wanted to be Alpha, but it also knew that Peter wanted Stiles. Which did he want more?

His wolf bristled immediately, a low growl rumbling in his throat before he could reel it in. The creature smiled unsteadily. "You want me to kill someone close to me..." He knew his eyes were glowing, knew his fangs had elongated on their own. And he just couldn't say Stiles' name yet.

"You want to be Alpha, don't you, Wolf? Nearly more than anything in the world, you want to be Alpha," the creature spoke slowly, softly, ducking its head. "And even more than that, you want to live. You do realize, if you refuse to kill the boy, then you'll die."

Self-preservation. Kill or be killed. Eat or be eaten. These were all laws Peter had lived by, and yet one stuck out to him now more than ever. The one manipulative tactic that always worked so perfectly, that Peter had absorbed into his being like a life force. It was the one thing that he had perfected. It allowed him to lie flawlessly when he wanted to, allowed him to fool whomever he wanted. And it was the only thing he could turn to at this moment, in some twisted, reversed way.

_And seem the saint, when most I play the devil_.

When Peter didn't answer, only stared at the creature while trying to get his wolf under control, it spoke again, repeating, reminding. Adding weight to the phrase. Peter was aware that if he said no, right here, right now, he probably wouldn't make it to the door before he was frozen in place with magic, slaughtered like an animal.

"If you want to live, you must kill the boy."

"Fine." Peter answered, voice tight. "I will kill the boy."

Finally, an ecstatic grin spread sickly across the creature's lips.


	2. The Moon Is Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles practices magic with Mizuki. Peter pulls forward on his Alpha plan. Everything goes wrong. (Did you really expect anything different?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so, I am hoping this book goes up pretty quickly. It's all the drama and bad things so lets just rip it off quick like a bandaid, okay? Okay.
> 
> All of you readers are actually the most amazing people on the planet btw, my love for you is infinite.
> 
> This chapter makes a bit more sense if you know that I am desperately in love with the idea of Stiles as the moon. Oh, and some of the tags become more important in this chapter. Check end notes if you wanna know before reading.

Four in the morning.

Stiles had been expected to get up and go practice magic at fucking _four in the morning_. (An hour in which waking someone should be considered extreme torture.)

It was some particular spell that Mizuki wanted to work on, and it couldn't be practiced at any other time during the day (which, who even decided that? Stiles wanted to find the person and hang them because that was outrageous, creating a spell that could only be learned in the early morning), and the woman was more of a drill sergeant than Peter could ever hope to be. She was small but she was very frightening. Stiles had immediately known where Jaylen had gotten it from upon spending five minutes with Mizuki during the first magic lesson. Soft-spoken, nice, little Asian woman his ass.

So, there he was, resigned to practice magic at four in the morning, didn't even bother changing out of his PJs pants that said "Hot Stuff" with little jalapeno peppers wearing sunglasses all over them. Whatever, Mizuki had just given him an amused look when she saw him, his eyes drooping and hair bed-mussed. It was a good thing he wasn’t there to impress her (except for the whole magic thing). Really, he could probably fall asleep right in the dirt of the woods at that moment.

"You're still not focusing enough," Mizuki told him after an hour of him trying to practice sleep-filled magic.

"Yeah, no wonder," Stiles grumbled, dropping his arms because they _ached_ and he was _tired_. "Mrs. Parker, I need coffee. This is too early."

"And if you keep relying on extrinsic motivation to get you through life then you'll never get to where you want to be," the woman answered him, flashing Stiles another amused, but somehow firm, look.

"It's not extrinsic motivation, it's an addiction," Stiles countered, rubbing his hands over his face in an effort to wake himself up.

Mizuki sighed, much like Peter, and looked up at the sky. "You need to master this spell before the moon sets, so you need to start working because that is not a lot of time."

Stiles groaned, feeling like he was back in high school again. Same shit everyone always told him. Focus, focus, focus, work harder, like he wasn't already working his ass off. Once more, he raised his arms, felt the muscles stretch and pull and ache. Wasn't it enough already? Hadn't he done enough?

No, not if he wanted to become a master wizard or whatever. Man, he was a fucking wizard, Hells yeah!

Part of this new arrangement really did suck though, besides waking up at God awful hours. As good of a teacher as Mizuki was, Stiles missed his time with Peter. Mizuki running her hands up and down his spine to correct his form just didn't feel quite the same way. Not that, you know, that's what he was looking for by doing magic. He wasn't doing it to impress Peter, he was doing it for protection, but, you know, perks. And Mizuki just didn’t offer those same kinds of perks, the ones that came along with thick fingers, and strong hands, and broad shoulders, and those collarbones. God those collarbones. Stiles wanted to _bite them_.

This was Stiles' fifth lesson with Mizuki, and each and every time she brought him to the brink of exhaustion (with no perks to look forward to). He had felt that he'd gotten control of his passing out in his last few lessons with Peter, but that was probably just because he wasn't working as hard since he'd pretty much mastered the spells. Now that Mizuki was making him do more extreme things, he felt that familiar fading daily.

But he never actually passed out.

It kinda of sucked not waking up randomly in Peter's bed now because of it. Stiles had kind of gotten used to being taken care of. (God, he was pathetic.)

What made it even worse was that, for some reason, it seemed like Peter was pulling away a bit more lately. Stiles didn't like, keep track of where Peter was going or anything, or even try to manage the wolf in any way, but it almost seemed like they were kind of, y'know, heading somewhere. (Which was crazy on its own. Stiles was already having a hard enough time dealing with this whole crush thing on his own, he'd started acting like a love-struck teenager again chasing after the ever-unattainable Lydia Martin which had also been a disaster. Beautiful, terrifying, controlling people, Stiles definitely had a type. Really, why did he have the worst choices in the love department? How did his life ever get so messed up that he fell for Peter-Fucking-Hale?)

But maybe Stiles was wrong too. Maybe Peter was trying to give Stiles space or something. There was the whole Beacon Hills ordeal. Peter did go without Stiles, and saw Scott none the less. It should be alarming. Peter definitely could have been lying through his teeth about the situation, or it really could have just been a coincidence. Stiles wasn't sure what to think of it. All he did know was that he had been _trying_ with Scott ever since Stiles had mentioned to the guy that he missed everyone from Beacon Hills, and even if Scott had said they all missed him back, he didn't seem like it. He didn't try to call or write, and when he did answer he sent Stiles messages in short little bursts. So Scott calling him out of the blue to question him on his life choices, really not a good moment in Stiles’ opinion.

And Peter well--Peter had been changing, right? Peter had been taking care of Stiles, protecting him. And yeah, it could have been an act, and yeah, Stiles totally could have fallen for it but really, how could he fake all of that? It would be a pretty long running ruse, and Peter didn't have that kind of patience, right? Or did he?

Whatever, it wasn't like Scott had the authority for input anymore. He hadn't been with Peter the past five months, hadn't been spending time at his apartment, eating his cooking, seeing the odd everyday life of the werewolf they used to be so terrified of.

And okay, maybe five months really wasn't long, but Stiles imagined if Peter was going to follow through with some kind of maniacal, psychotic plot then he probably would have done it by now, or at least show signs. Maybe the pulling away was a sign? Maybe Peter was finally getting into the important part of the plot and that's why he was pulling away? Maybe Stiles had fabricated this entire situation in his head? Maybe Stiles was a total fool and actually fell for it and God how could he be so stupid fantasizing over collarbones, all the while Peter had planned to--

"Focus!"

Suddenly, Stiles felt a sharp smack to the top of his head and, dazed, he blinked to clear his vision to saw Mizuki standing in front of him, one of her irritated faces on. Shit, he'd totally spaced out. No wonder she still didn't want Peter visiting while he was practicing.

"If you mess up this spell, there is a chance that _you_ could become very injured. Get it together, boy," she finally said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I need Adderall," Stiles grumbled, "my mind is racing."

Mizuki sighed again, but this time it was far more sympathetic. She tilted her head to the side. "Do you need to talk about something? Tends to relax the mind a bit more."

"It's-uh--" Stiles stumbled, wondered if he should actually talk about it. It was kind of weird. And not really something he should talk about with Jaylen's mom, right? But the woman was standing there to patiently, and expecting, he had to give her something. "It's just Peter stuff. It's fine. I'll focus."

"Ah," Mizuki started, and she almost seemed like she...tensed. "How has Peter been lately?"

"Acting kind of strange I guess, well, actually not strange, more like normal. He's been acting weird since December and now he just seems to be going back to his old self? Like, his Beacon Hills self? I don't know. I might just be over reacting or something. I guess he kinda goes back and forth."

Mizuki looked down at the ground, nodded slowly while listening. But she didn't answer him. Instead, she just moved to straighten up his arms again. "Some little conflict of the heart is no reason for you to not pay attention to your magical abilities. People will always disappoint you. Your skills never will as long as you perfect them."

"So what? I should always just live expecting the worst out of people? Become a hermit magician?" Stiles asked while rolling his eyes. "Aren't you married though? You seem to be making it work without being a hermit."

Mizuki paused, her hands on his arms, before she looked him. "My husband doesn't even know the supernatural world exists. He is more of a disappointment than you could imagine."

Stiles closed his mouth after that. He couldn't even come close to imagining keeping a secret like that from someone he supposedly loved, not that what Mizuki said made it seem like she was head over heels for the man or anything. The teen sighed softly and straightened his arms without Mizuki's help, avoiding her eyes.

"What do you really want out of your magic, Stiles? Are you doing this because you _want_ to, or are you just trying to finally keep up with all the werewolves in a testosterone fueled power match? Do you care about what you're doing, or is this all a game to you?"

"Of course I-" Stiles started.

"Then show me,” Mizuki snapped. “Because now that the newness of it has been wearing off, now that you've mastered a few simple spells, it seems like you've completely given up trying to extend yourself."

"I want to be able to protect people."

"You won't protect anyone if you let your mind get away from you during a fight. This is the last time I will say it--Focus."

It was true; Stiles really hadn't been showing Mizuki the best of him. And he had been thinking of Peter too much. Stiles took in a deep breath, moved his arms, his legs, into perfect position. And when Mizuki stepped back, he imagined himself being pulled in several different directions, imagined himself being torn part, and yet remaining completely whole.

There were no longer any incantations he could say to help him at this point. These spells were all based on the power of the mind, the ability to control his body, his spark. He focused on what he wanted done, on what he had to do, and looked up at the growing sliver of the moon above him. Moon magic, illusion magic. Stiles focused on deception.

And then, all at once, several forms, several versions of himself, shot across the clearing, all in the same pose, all wearing the same clothing. And they weren't completely opaque, but they weren't completely transparent either. Translucent, that was the word.

Stiles watched this surreal occurrence, watched so many versions of himself splay out from tree line to tree line. He glanced at Mizuki, was just about to grin at her for his success when all at once, the forms sucked back into his body, knocking the wind out of him and making him fall to his knees.

For a moment, Stiles couldn't even gasp for breath. The first one he did manage he practically dragged in, but it made his lungs sting and ache. He began coughing, his organs buzzing, his legs and arms felt like they'd been split in half.

And Mizuki just stood and watched, without saying a word. Very helpful.

After five or so minutes, his body began to feel normal and he slowly hoisted himself off his elbows, pushing up onto his knees, only the occasional cough escaping his lungs now. "Holy-shit-" he gasped, slowly looking up at Jaylen's mother.

"Now you know why I wanted you to focus," she started plainly. She could be looking at her nails for the way she sounded. So much for Stiles’ grand magical feat. "Imagine if you had messed that up."

"Yeah-but, that was still, like, good, right?" He asked, still trying to get his breathing back to a steady rhythm.

"That wasn't the worst for a beginner. But they weren't solid, and they weren't able to move on their own. If you are really going to fool someone on where you are, you need to practice this move, or else an enemy be able to pinpoint you out in the middle."

Stiles nodded slowly, not sure if he even wanted to try it again after the way it made him feel. But at least he wasn't dizzy. Mizuki gave him ample time to get back to his feet and stop coughing before having him try it again. And then again. And then again.

***

After ten more attempts, each one draining more and more of Stiles' energy, each time becoming more difficult to recover from, Mizuki finally kicked off from the ground and lifted herself into the air, floating high above the tree canopy where she looked out over the horizon. The sun had been up for a few hours, the morning already heating up. Stiles felt like an idiot still standing in the middle of the woods in his pajamas, leaning against a tree for support and just trying to _catch his fucking breath_.

"The moon is down," she said softly, almost too quietly for Stiles to hear, and then she was landing on the ground once more, much more gracefully than Stiles could ever hope for. Shit, when was she going to teach him how to freaking fly?

"Thank God," Stiles managed to gasp out, his hands grabbing everywhere on his ribs. They hurt so badly.

"Go home and get some rest," Mizuki told him, walking over and placing a warm, motherly hand on the back of his head. Her thumb ran gently through his hair. "Make sure you eat a lot, and drink plenty of water."

The teen nodded slowly, trying to work his way up the tree to standing, even if it took pretty much all of his energy left. "I'm assuming I'll see you two mornings from now?" He asked, stumbling toward his car like he didn't have his sea legs quite yet.

"Of course, and once again at four in the morning. I expect you to be right on time."

Stiles grumbled to himself, but didn't fight it. Instead, he got in his Jeep and drove off to his dorm. His roommate had been strangely absent since the whole...meeting with Peter thing, which was just nonsensical altogether. Stiles never did get around to asking either of them how they knew the other. But at the same time it was totally okay, because Stiles needed the alone time, so his roommate’s disappearance wasn’t really something he lamented.

The drive back seemed to take shorter than normal, but Stiles wasn't sure if that was just because he was so dazed. It probably wasn't all that safe for him to be driving on his own after practicing magic for hours, always the chance that he could pass out, but whatever. He was fine. And he managed to make it back to his dorm just in time to grab a bite to eat on his way to class. He'd have class back to back before being able to get some sleep. The challenge was not falling asleep in class. Challenge so not accepted. Normally Stiles just guilted himself into staying away. Don't disappoint Dad! But he wasn’t really sure if he could manage at the moment.

He began the sleepy trudge with a Poptart sticking out of his mouth (S’mores Poptarts were the only way to go. Sugar, sugar, and more sugar).

On his way to class though, after finishing his bagel and searching through his phone for _any_ music to keep him awake, Stiles felt like someone poured cold water down his back while he was halfway to the English building. He jumped, and looked around, but there was nothing there. He would say that he was glad it at least seemed to wake him up, except, then he started feeling some kind of dread. This horrible, unstoppable fear that something bad was going to happen. It felt like a panic attack, but there was no way. He didn’t just…there was nothing to trigger it. But it was crippling; it was physically painful.

Stiles fell to the ground, trying to grab onto something, anything, to steady himself.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thought that someone said his name, but it was too quiet, too faded. Even the music he had been listening to seemed to stop cold. His head became fuzzy, and he expected himself to pass out, wondered if he had pushed himself too hard during training, but he _didn't actually fade away _. What the fuck was happening?__

__Hands grabbed onto him, grabbing his biceps, and he wasn't sure where they came from, but he tried to fight them off, wanted them off. They were old, wrinkled hands, skin stretched over bone kind of hands. And these hands, they seemed to burn his skin. Stiles fought, fought back. How could he be getting attacked right there on campus? How was no one coming to his aid? Where was sound? Where did his sight go? He couldn’t even see anything, he couldn’t--_ _

__"Stiles!" The voice cut through his mind at last. The burning hands let go of him, were replaced by thin, long hands. Hands he knew._ _

__Stiles looked up to see Thomas staring down at him, a panicked look on the older boy's face. Stiles himself was hyperventilating, trying to place exactly where the hell he was. What had just happened?_ _

__"Stiles, what's wrong? Talk to me," Thomas said, voice dropping to a whisper as he pulled Stiles close, gently took the earplugs out of Stiles’ ears. And the younger boy collapsed into his friend._ _

__"Yes," some other voice hissed, almost like it was in Stiles’ head. It rasped, like it couldn't catch its own breath. There was a voice talking in his head like he was Harry Potter. Gasping and crackling. "What's wrong, boy?"_ _

__In an attempt to get it out of his head, Stiles clasped his hands over his ears, not sure how it would help, but it was _something_. When he looked up at Thomas again, wanted to beg his friend to walk him back home, there was something behind the older boy. A tall, stretched figure, too tall to be human, a black cloak billowing around it, its face shadowed out. And Stiles suddenly felt like he was staring into the face of a dementor. All the happiness drained out of him._ _

__As if sensing it, Thomas looked over his shoulder, right at the figure, but he didn't _see_ anything, just looked back at Stiles with a shrug of the shoulders before completely and totally picking his friend up. Thomas picked Stiles up like it was nothing, just another day, and headed off in some direction. The older boy was saying something, words probably, was moving his mouth, but Stiles couldn't hear them._ _

__"You know...I would have thought you were...more intimidating," the creature said to Stiles, hissed at him, and Stiles couldn't peel his eyes away. Not until, like a dream, the creature disappeared into the air._ _

__A pressure was taken out of Stiles’ head, and the world brightened. His back no longer felt cold. Stiles whipped his head around to stare at Thomas, arms wrapped tightly around the older boy's neck. The sound from the rest of the world came rushing back too, including Thomas taking in a deep sigh and putting his head against Stiles' forehead._ _

__"Oh thank God, your eyes were glossing over. You almost looked like you were having a bad trip, holy shit," Thomas gasped, slowly setting Stiles down on the ground to stand on his own. “Not that, you know, carrying you would probably help you out if you were tripping, but you know, closed, safe environment—“_ _

__"No-it wasn't-I thought I saw something--there was this thing in the street, and it was speaking to me and--” He sounded crazy. He sounded completely crazy._ _

__Thomas stared at him a moment (probably debating if Stiles really was tripping) before nodding and pointing to his car. "Come on, you're coming back with me. I'm going to totally play hero this time and protect you. This is my moment at last!" He grinned, and held the door open for Stiles before bowing like a proper gentleman._ _

__Without a second thought, Stiles slid into Thomas' car and ducked down low. Whatever had just happened, he didn't want it happening again, and definitely not in public. Right now, he kind of just wanted to hang out with Thomas, maybe get high, and forget all of this. Maybe he should call Peter. Would Peter want him to go to the apartment? Or would the wolf want Stiles to go back to his dorm? Or maybe he should call Mizuki._ _

__Stiles rubbed his face quickly to clear his thoughts. "Dude, you have no idea how much of my hero you already are," he grumbled. His stomach was still turning. Something was making him feel sick._ _

__"Oh, I know I am," Thomas wiggled his eyebrows. "I just didn't want to display to the world how huge my ego was. And maybe I just wanted you to say I’m your hero."_ _

__"That makes your ego worse."_ _

__"You sure you're going to be okay?" Thomas asked, just to make sure, pulling away from the parking space._ _

__Stiles shrugged, pulled out his phone and scrolled through a few messages._ _

__His heart picked up a few paces, fluttering as he read, "when is your next training session?"_ _

__He quickly typed back the answer to Peter, smirking to himself before slipping the phone back in his pocket. Right now, he didn't exactly feel like going over the wolf's apartment, just because he didn't imagine actually being awake. Maybe he would go over the next day, but really, if he was just going to see Peter during training, he didn't have to go over. He could definitely use the rest._ _

__Peter sent back a quick "see you then," and Stiles felt warm course through his veins. God, he was such a kid. But at least it helped push the horrible dread that was still stuck in the back of his throat._ _

__"Man, I wish you would look at _me_ like that," Thomas sighed dramatically._ _

__Stiles grinned and gave Thomas a playful shove, ignoring the older boy's shout of "ah! Hey! No! I'm driving!" Then he leaned to the side, pressed his forehead against the window._ _

__A least three times on the way to Thomas' apartment, he thought he saw the same, dark, cloaked figure lingering in the crowds, around corners. Its hands covered in blood._ _

__***_ _

__"You seem to be focusing much more today," Mizuki told him, a quiet, pleased tone to her voice._ _

__"Yeah, it's crazy, right?" Stiles asked, a grin on his face. He'd made several successful mesmers since four in the morning. But now he was getting more impatient, losing that focus he was just praised on. Peter had said he was going to stop by this training session and he hadn't shown up yet. Stiles stretched out his arms again while scanning the clearing quickly. Okay, maybe he was trying to show off a bit. "Just, feel inspired I guess."_ _

__The look on Mizuki's face tightened slightly, but she didn't say anything. Instead, she walked around Stiles' form, straightening him, and then circled around each of his copies. The copies began walking around the clearing, not noticing each other, the trees, or Stiles. "Well, as long as you're producing fully formed replicas, I don't really care what the inspiration is."_ _

__After a few more hours of practice and no Peter, Stiles began to get a bit discouraged, and maybe a little worried. And pretty irritated too. (Why the Hell would Peter say he would come if he wasn't going to? Really? Super inconsiderate. But what if something happened to him? The dick.)_ _

__Mizuki gave Stiles a small break, and he picked up his phone to sift through messages, just in case he missed something. But no, nothing was there. So where was Peter then?  
Just as he shoved his phone in his pocket with a frustrated sigh and stood up to get ready to practice the exact same spell _again_ , a twig snapped in the woods around them. Both Mizuki and Stiles immediately pivoted to face the sound, and Stiles tried to control his heartbeat from speeding up too much._ _

__What? Peter couldn't know how much his showing up would actually affect Stiles._ _

__"How is the training going?" The wolf asked, coming out of the woods just to lean against a tree right outside the clearing._ _

__"Ah, I see what inspiration he was talking about now," Mizuki answered, flashing a quick glance at Stiles from the corner of her eye, a smirk on her lips. Stiles could only grin at her and shrug._ _

__"Inspiration?" Peter asked, in one of his too-smooth voices. Something was wrong. "I'm a natural muse, or didn't you know already?"_ _

__"You’re late," Stiles told the wolf, his own brow furrowing. "Or early, I guess. Sun has been up for an hour or so."_ _

__"I was...delayed," Peter answered too calmly. Why wasn't he looking at Stiles? Why was he staying so far away? Even Mizuki seemed to realize something was up because she was _glaring_ at Peter, which didn't seem like a normal thing for her to do. Though she had been touchy on the werewolf topic lately._ _

__"What have you brought with you?" The words were sharp as Mizuki asked them, though they were more of a demand rather than a question. Peter normally wouldn't stand for being addressed like that._ _

__"Brought with him?" Stiles echoed._ _

__It was only then that the feeling of ice cold washed down his back once more, froze him in place. Stiles tried to jump away from it as quickly as possible, but it followed him, clung to his back like a chilled wind that wouldn't ease. Goosebumps spread across his skin._ _

__All the while, he was too busy trying to spring away from the cold that he didn't notice Mizuki was frozen in place too. Didn't realize that Peter was watching the woman intently. At least, Stiles didn’t notice until Peter spoke, slow and methodical, "this doesn't have anything to do with you, Mizuki."_ _

__The woman's eyes fluttered shut and she fell to the ground, completely unconscious. It happened so quickly that Stiles barely had time to register what had happened._ _

__Then, and only then, Peter finally looked at Stiles._ _

__"Peter, what the Hell?" The teen asked, throwing his arms out to the side, his head jutting forward in disbelief. Really, what the fuck was the werewolf doing?_ _

__"There's been a new development that I've been less than forward about, and I don't exactly want prying eyes and ears to invest in our following courses of action," Peter answered, looking down at his arms as they settled over his chest._ _

__Following courses of action? New development? Maybe Peter really was setting off some grand plot. And God, that same feeling was back, the same feeling with the creature from two days prior, the one where Thomas found Stiles curling into himself on the ground. That creature._ _

__The wolf straightened up from his position against the tree and took several steps forward. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound actually came out for once. Stiles filled the empty space instead. "Peter, I think I'm being followed."_ _

__Mouth snapping closed, Peter looked at Stiles, an intense kind of look but one the teen couldn’t place, and then the wolf nodded. "Yes, I'm aware of the situation."_ _

__What?_ _

__Stiles felt his own face fall. Peter was aware that Stiles was being followed? Was that the new development? Was it Peter? Was the creature tied to Peter? His mind supplied him with what Mizuki had just said, that Peter brought something with him. The werewolf had brought the creature to Stiles._ _

__The cold seemed to run straight to his core now._ _

__"What are you talking about?" Stiles asked. His own voice dropped an octave, grew quieter._ _

__Taking in a deep breath, Peter moved closer still, farther into Stiles’ space, the wolf’s arms falling from being crossed over his chest to resting down at his sides, but still tense. They still held potential. They were still menacing, even relaxed. Stiles let his eyes travel down from Peter's face, down past his neck, collarbone, shoulders, his arms. He scanned the position, and suddenly felt like he’d been thrown blindfolded into danger._ _

__But Peter wasn't _dangerous anymore_. Peter was--Peter was--_ _

__A very good liar._ _

__"For the past month," the werewolf start, "I've been in communication with a seer. You may have noticed him around, especially during magic training." He waited for Stiles to think back and nod, even though Stiles hadn’t noticed a “seer” per say, but then the older man continued. "One particular day, he made it quite difficult to keep away from him, planned it all perfectly, and I found myself unable to refuse."_ _

__"Because that's a good idea," Stiles said, rolling his eyes. Peter didn't say anything, just stared at him. It wasn't really like him. None of this was like him. Peter was normally so much more...what? Playful? Dickish? But no, Peter was continuing on like he didn’t even hear Stiles, like the banter wasn’t what they both craved in this weird relationship._ _

__"He informed me, in an incredibly irritating way, that I have the potential to be Alpha again."_ _

__Stiles caught his breath, held it in tight. Was this all about being Alpha then? Was Peter Alpha again? Was this him, here, telling Stiles goodbye? Did he bring a wolf pack with him? Did he murder some poor Alpha to get there? Alright, he was getting ahead of himself. "Okay? And your reaction was..."_ _

__"I accepted the deal. All I needed was a sacrifice, a display of power, and a few other small things."_ _

__"If you sacrificed some poor animal--"_ _

__"No, nothing like that, Stiles," Peter said softly, took another step closer. Stiles wanted to kick himself for wanting to move closer too. He wanted to pull so close to Peter, forget about whatever mess was coming out the wolf’s mouth and just relax after magic practice. "The seer informed me, too late I might add, that if I did not finish all of the steps in the process, then I would die."_ _

__What? This was too much. Was this a joke?_ _

__"Well, then finish them, dummy," Stiles said, rolling his eyes. "I've seen those muscles and those big o' fists; you can show some sorry guy the power you have."_ _

__"Actually, I already have," Peter answered, and gave Stiles a moment to process. "I needed to show the power I had over someone that had overpowered me prior."_ _

__"You mean...Scott. That wasn't just some spontaneous trip to Beacon Hills."_ _

__He wasn't sure what his face was doing at the moment, but he knew that Peter was stone cold. The older man wasn't displaying any kind of emotion. Not even anger. He just seemed...numb._ _

__"And my last task is a bit more, physical."_ _

__Stiles was definitely in danger. He swallowed roughly, looked around. The final task was him. He was totally the final task. Peter was about to do something to him. Shit, Stiles was about to be devoured by a werewolf and the only person that could stop the guy was totally asleep, and Stiles wasn't even sure _how_ she fell asleep. It must be the seer, the thing that was with Peter. The teen looked around sharply, started backing away from the wolf. Maybe Peter was brainwashed? Maybe this was a trick? Maybe--_ _

__"You have got to be shitting me," Stiles said, but he already knew that if Peter wanted to attack, he could probably win. Stiles was practically exhausted having just finished practicing. There really wasn't a lot of magic juice left, and Peter knew that. Peter fucking _knew_ that. It's why he wanted to know about the magic practice in the first place. "And you're totally going to go through with it too. Oh my God, you are totally going to do something to me. Well, just to let you know I'm so not going down without a fight you asshole. God, I cannot believe I thought you'd changed in any way, shape, or form and that I have actually trusted you for the past five months."_ _

__Stiles couldn't believe that he had even...that he still... _He'd fallen for the wolf and his stupid plotting and cooking and warm touches_. "I am literally the biggest idiot on the planet."  
"No, not quite," Peter answered, a small smirk on his lips. Why did he still sound so soft? The voice was making it really difficult for Stiles to be pissed off._ _

__A darkness instantly filled the air, surrounded the clearing. Some kind of sickening smell seemed to come from somewhere behind Peter. And then, short after, coming out of the darkness, rising up behind the wolf's shoulder, was the cloaked creature from a few days prior. It stretched up, at least seven feet tall, and grossly thin. But still, its entire face was shadowed out._ _

__Peter had called it a seer. Was this the seer then?_ _

__The wolf didn't even seem to notice it was behind him, or didn’t care._ _

__"So, what? This is the part where you say everything was a lie and you spend an hour monologuing before you kill me?" Stiles asked, rolling his eyes and trying to hide the ache in his chest, the way his eyes burned. No way was this happening. This couldn't be real. The past few months _couldn't_ have been a lie. Peter wasn't that good of an actor, no matter how much the wolf pretended he was._ _

__But then, Peter slowly nodded, looking up at the sky thoughtfully as if something was there. "Yes, something like that," the werewolf answered._ _

__The creature behind Peter chuckled, low and rasped. He was _amused_. And as Peter watched his claws extend from regular nails, the creature hovered even closer, taking up Peter's space like a background._ _

__"All so you can become Alpha again? That's really that important to you?" Stiles asked, glaring at this point. He needed to fan his spark somehow, and that sure seemed like a good enough way to do it._ _

__"Actually, at this point it's a matter of life and death," Peter answered, looking up at Stiles pointedly. And there was something there. For a split second, there was _something new_ there. Peter let the stone cold facade drop, if only for a millisecond. And it was the only thing that stopped Stiles from shooting electricity out of his hand at the wolf. Peter wasn’t attacking. "Either you die, or I do."_ _

__The creature hovered even closer, practically dropping its head onto the top of Peter's._ _

__"So you're choosing yourself." It was hard not to sound bitter, because even if Peter had let something drop, that didn't mean he wouldn't still do it, right? Holding out for hope was stupid, and Stiles shouldn't let himself be fooled any more than he already was. It was Peter. Peter was a traitor. Peter was a schemer. Peter was a manipulator. Peter was--Peter was--_ _

__"Not quite," Peter finally answered, low, and dangerous. The world seemed to freeze. Because what did Peter mean not quite?_ _

__The creature behind the wolf seemed momentarily confused, at least until it jerked away, Stiles assumed because it made sense of the words, finally processed them. But even Stiles was lost for a moment, unsure of what to make of the words. (Not quite? Peter made it pretty clear on the only two options there. Kill Stiles or be killed. And Peter definitely wasn't about to let himself die for Stiles' sake. Plus, y'know, the whole claws out shit kind of...yeah, that kind of put the nail in the coffin on what his choice was.)_ _

__The creature reared back though, released a raspy kind of hiss, flung its hand out to do...well, something, Stiles wasn't sure. But then Peter whirled around, reached out, fully expecting whatever was going on and caught the seer right in the side of the head, claws landing in fabric and skin, ripping to the side, dark, blackish blood flinging out and across the ground. The blow knocked the creature's hood off, revealed a bumpy bald head, large ears that hung too low, a thin neck. It was a ghastly creature, barely looked human. And it didn't have eyes. There was bumpy, rough, dead skin layered over where the eyes should be. It had a long mouth, blue lips, sharpened teeth. But it still wasn't human. No way could it be human. And Stiles was awestruck._ _

__"You've made the wrong choice, Wolf," it hissed out, gasping for breath like it was already tired. There were four large gashes across its cheek, slowly dripping tar colored blood._ _

__"I'm _terrified_ ," Peter drawled. "Kill me, ‘O wise, ancient one’." Peter bent at the waist, a mocking sort of bow._ _

__The creature took a shaky step back, looking frightened for just one moment before it laughed, loudly, hideously, slowly. Was it…faking? "But it was never you that I was after..."_ _

__Peter’s reaction was miniscule, and Stiles wouldn't have noticed it if he didn't _know_ Peter so well, but the wolf was definitely thrown off guard, he hadn't expected that answer. His head jerked slightly, like he wanted to look back at Stiles, but he didn't. Instead, his muscles got tenser, stance more firm. And when the creature looked over Peter's shoulder, and at Stiles, Peter growled threateningly._ _

__"Not quite as quick witted as you pretend you are," the creature laughed. Then it sobered, all at once, lips pulling over teeth, shaky hand lifting to point at Stiles. "I'm not leaving without the boy. It's perfect that you've brought me right to him."_ _

__Fuck._ _

__Not wanting to spare a moment, Stiles backtracked, but then he looked at Mizuki, helpless on the ground, looked at Peter (who he was still completely conflicted over at the moment, seriously, he was going to punch the wolf in the head), and then looked at the creature. It looked weak, it looked like he could take it on, and maybe they could both take it on. Except it had knocked Mizuki out in an instant, so it had to know magic, and how could Stiles take on something that was so old, had probably been studying magic for all that time?_ _

__Well, he wasn't going to get anywhere if he didn't try._ _

__Peter leapt first. Lunged at the creature, reached out with claws, and most likely fangs. And he was so fast, so fast. But not fast enough. The creature disappeared from in front of the wolf, leaving Peter slashing through air._ _

__Acting on instinct, Stiles focused and felt himself pull in multiple different directions, didn't mind using the last of his energy to split himself into replicas if it meant momentary confusion for the seer. He was beyond ready to feel himself be pulled, to watch other version of himself around him. But it didn't happen, the replicas never came. The moon had set, what only had to be minutes before. The moon was down._ _

__The creature laughed sharply from what seemed like all around._ _

__Not leaving time to have another thought, Stiles fired off as many protection spells from his mind as he could. He surrounded himself, he surrounded Peter._ _

__And none of them mattered._ _

__The creature appeared behind the teen, sliced its hand through the air, and Stiles felt each and every spell slip away from his grasp, felt them leave his body, his presence. Hell, Stiles felt his spark evaporate._ _

__Peter ran toward them, lunged at the creature._ _

__And just as he was about to get there, just as Peter was about to dig his claws into the creature’s chest, it slipped a dark, crooked dagger out of its long sleeve, and slammed the blade into Stiles' side, angling up like it was aiming for a lung. And Stiles gasped for breath, didn’t even register what happened until pain seemed to erupt everywhere in his body. He may have heard Peter shout, and the creature may have laughed._ _

__The werewolf was there before the seer could do much more damage, before it could grab a hold of Stiles and drag him off. Peter lashed out, caught the creature deep in the neck with his claws and tore, and it shrieked, pulled back, wrapped around itself, pulled its cloak around its form, curling into a ball, and disappeared._ _

__The darkness receded._ _

__Stiles felt himself fading, felt himself losing consciousness. It was a totally different kind. It wasn't like fading because of magic. The energy was draining somewhere else. And he couldn't speak, could only just stare down to where the hilt stuck out of his side. Could only stare, and gasp, and feel himself pale. Blood was pooling on his shirt, spreading through each fiber in red watercolor paint._ _

__He'd been stabbed. He'd been stabbed. There was a sharp, throbbing pain in his side, but somehow it was being overcome by numbness. There was nothingness. Stiles watched his vision blacken on the sides, and he looked up at Peter. The wolf was holding him close, somehow at some point Peter had put his arms around Stiles, was staring down at him, and for the first time in his life, Stiles saw Peter look completely _broken_._ _

__"I-I apparently need to get better at dodging..." Stiles stuttered, trying not to grin because if those were his last words, those would be some pretty hilarious ones. Or maybe that was the blood loss talking._ _

__"Shut up," Peter said frantically, running his hand over Stiles' side, through the blood. "Stiles, I need to get you back. I need to..."_ _

__Stiles didn't hear the rest._ _

__Stiles closed his eyes._ _

__Stiles slipped away._ _

__His last thought in his mind, for some reason, was an echo of Mizuki, a warning now: the moon is down. The moon is down. The moon is down._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is stabbed pretty severely through the side. But note that there is no character death in this story, okay? :]
> 
> The next chapter is my "damn Peter you scary" chapter. Next chapter is much more violent. At least until its not?


	3. Have You Passed Through This Night?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Stiles has been wounded, Peter simultaneously has to make it up to Stiles and the rest of the group, as well as hunt down the one who has wounded him. But will Stiles even make it through?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so this is a warning that Peter is pretty intense in this chapter. This is where the major violence tag applies. Notes at bottom if you wanna be warned.
> 
> Also, thank you all so so so so so so much! I promise to respond to comments soon, but I've been crazy busy working! I promise soon, you're all beautiful and wonderful, thanks for comments and kudos!
> 
> I hope this chapter makes sense....

Everything moved in a blur. Even for Peter.

The creature was gone, and Stiles had been stabbed in the side. The boy slipped out of consciousness before Peter could do anything else, and he could only guess that the creature had teleported back to its wretched home. And there was nothing that he could do about either, at present.

Peter had assumed his plan was going to work perfectly. He was going to lie his way to Stiles, managed to relax himself enough that no tells would be revealed to the damn creature. Both he and the creature were going to make it to the clearing, Peter was banking on Stiles' warm feelings as of late to get the boy through the thought of betrayal, expected Stiles to know that it was a lie from the start. Then Stiles and Peter were going to work together to kill the thing, just as they had done each and every time before. This was the plan, had been the plan from the moment the creature said Peter would kill have to "the boy."

But Stiles never figured into Peter's plans, not the way the wolf wanted him to. Stiles never fit into his plans because he just didn't function like other people Peter knew, wasn't so predictable. That and the time ended up being much later than Peter had been intending to leave at to meet Stiles at the clearing. The wolf shouldn't have followed through with his own plan when he knew he was going to be late, the creature having walked Peter through its plans again and again, telling the wolf to follow the direct instructions because it was apparently so important that _Peter did not mess up_. And in response, it got too late, and Stiles' magic was nowhere near as powerful, on top of the fact that the boy's emotions had not been in check either. Stiles really thought Peter would have killed him, because Stiles would never, ever fully trust him and Peter didn't factor that in, stupidly.

That was an ache, a deep ache, to worry about on another day. Right now, with Stiles in his arms, slowly bleeding to death because the boy _wasn't a wolf_ , Peter had to push everything aside and deal with the more important matters. Emotions meant nothing if the object of his affection died. There was no time to worry, or mourn, or pine, because he had to react.

So instead, he worked in numbness. He laid Stiles' body down, the boy had passed out anyway, and went to wake Mizuki. She knew some healing magic, very little, but some. She was much more based on offensive spells than anything else but anything was better than nothing, no? Leaning down, he put his hands on her shoulders, rolled her over, shook her.

“Mizuki,” he hissed, knowing time was essential, this was no time to be gentle. “Mizuki, wake up.” If only he had some cold water to pour over her. Instead, he gave two short, sharp, smacks to her cheek, though they were still relatively gentle, she was a human after all.

Slowly, the woman's eyes opened, dazed, her eyes seemed to vibrate a moment before settling. “Peter Hale,” she said, her voice void of warmth. “You brought a corrupt, ancient thing to me and magicked me to sleep?” The woman glared and slowly sat up, rubbing her head. She then looked at Stiles and jumped to her feet. “You didn't really—“

“No, I—“

There was a long, glistening, sharp something pointed at his neck before he could say another word, and Mizuki held it tightly in her fist. Ice. She had made an ice dagger. How quaint. “I knew you were consorting with something foul. After all the stress you put on me about _my_ behavior around Stiles, you bring something here that wants to _kill_ the boy and you think it will all be fine?” She slashed across his cheek, both of them knowing it was the minimum of what he deserved, and then stomped her way over to Stiles. “I can't believe I actually tried to _help_ you. You're both morons.”

There wasn't anything that he could say, and no, Peter normally wouldn't let someone speak to him like this, but the truth was that he messed up. He hadn't known that he wasn't important to the creature from the beginning, something his ego wouldn't overlook. It wanted Stiles, and Stiles only. And Peter had offered him up on a silver platter. Peter wanted that power so badly, he'd placed the only person he really cared about in this mess...possibly killed him. God, Peter was Derek.

This was far more personal now.

The werewolf moved over to Stiles and Mizuki, kneeled down to be right next to the teen’s body, but the moment he moved to place a hand on Stiles, try to help, Mizuki slapped his hands away. Her aggressive maternal side was suddenly coming out in full force, the motherly pheromones hitting Peter's nose. She was treating Stiles like a fallen child of hers, something she needed to protect, and Peter was the thing that hurt him. She glared at him, cold, unrelenting eyes. Well hadn’t they formed a bond quickly?

“You need to leave. And you better follow that thing back to its hole and rip it apart for doing this. I'll deal with you after you do that,” she demanded, coolly. One of her hands gripped the dagger handle, the other held onto Stiles' side. The hand on Stiles began to glow a soft blue, and then she was slowly, carefully, pulling the dagger out.

What if she did it wrong? What if she hurt him? She wasn't a doctor. And Peter felt his possessiveness rising up to the surface because someone else was touching Stiles, an injured Stiles, and she was telling Peter not to, and how could he just sit there and let her?

But Mizuki had had experience with this sort of thing before. And Peter was in no place to disagree. He pulled back, stepped away, and it was one of the most difficult things he'd ever had to do. He had to leave Stiles' life up to someone else, someone he didn't really trust. But he had just done something similar. He had no right. Yet still…

“Leave him—“

“You are in no place to give me demands right now, Peter,” Mizuki answered, finally pulling the dagger from Stiles' side, and the boy gasped, moaned in pain, blood started pooling all the faster from the wound, but she pointed the blade Peter's way. “I'll take him where I decide he'll be safe and can heal, if he doesn't die from a punctured organ first. You leave. Now.”

It was all Peter could do.

The wolf hesitated a moment, no wanting to leave Stiles wounded and alone. Not a pack member wounded and alone. And it wasn't like Mizuki would stop caring for him because Peter was there, but he knew he should leave. His eyes scanned Stiles, head to toe, once more, like he would never get the chance again. Because maybe he wouldn't. The metallic smell of blood began to sting his nose, became chokingly thick, but it was still Stiles’ scent, Stiles’ blood.

The boy had said “I need to get better at dodging.” Stupid. Stupid idiot. Stupid, idiotic fool.

Peter's fists were clenched at his sides, something that made him realize that yes, he did need to follow Mizuki's instructions. He needed to find the seer and tear him apart, limb by limb, then vein by vein. Peter could pluck each and every string of muscle, and it might make him feel better. Oh, it would most certainly make him feel better, regardless of his previous feelings about revenge on Scott in the week prior.

Peter would most certainly enjoy pulling the creature apart. Hell, he might even laugh all the while.

***

Truth be told, Peter hadn't felt this kind of fire, this kind of rage, this kind of power, since before he was killed by Derek.

Threatening Stiles, hurting Stiles, fell along the same lines as hurting his family, if it wasn't worse. And that was an interesting development. Of course, Peter was aware that he felt a certain level of emotions for Stiles, he had even successfully admitted that he was fond of, even liked, the boy at this point. But this kind of fury was...well, it was illogical, it was reaction based. And that could only really mean one thing. Peter didn't care if people got hurt in battle. Hell, he'd seen Derek impaled countless times and while it was irritating someone threatened his nephew, an injured Derek didn't really incite some kind of red-eyed rage from Peter. Not like a fire destroying his whole innocent family.

Not like some creature having the gall to stab Stiles.

What made the pathetic creature think it even had permission to _touch_ Stiles?

At this point in Peter's ferocity he would go as far as to question _who thought that they could touch Stiles at all_?

Though it was true that at the moment, even Peter had made a mistake. He would repent for it just the same, in honest even. Rarely did Peter make mistakes, much less admit them. If it was anyone else, he wouldn't have cared. If it was anyone else, Hell, Peter wouldn't have even hesitated with killing them. If it was anyone else, Peter wouldn't have felt like a fool, would have just killed the fooler and been done with the situation.

But this wasn't just anyone. This was Stiles.

And even if he had never actually intended on harming Stiles, he couldn't really see this situation ending in any other way than Peter making it up to the boy for a life time. Something that Peter knew, even if he would never say it out loud, he would do without complaint.

If Stiles even still wanted to talk to him after.

Everything about this situation was less than ideal. But at least he had a way to take his frustrations out.

When the werewolf made it to the small road that led to the cave, there had been some half assed protection spells thrown up. Apparently Peter wounded the creature enough that it wasn't quite as powerful as it used to be. However, it still had potential to injure. And the wolf really didn't care.

He ripped through the barrier. Shredded it with claws all the while it electrocuted him, burned him, tried to force him back and it was _adorable_ because Peter had fought through worse for less. This attempt at keeping him out was laughable, and the wolf may have actually heard himself chuckle a few times, low and to himself. To think that the seer actually thought it could keep him out after pulling a stunt like that. Peter was not a man to be laughed at.

He was to be feared.

And he would be. Oh, he would be.

The last hold on the barrier stripped away, and the werewolf pushed himself through. Steam was rising from his skin, burns covered his body, but they would heal. It wasn't necessary for him to stop and rest, so he kept moving forward. He made his way toward the cave, methodically sharpening his claws on trees as he went, just scrapping them across the bark as he passed them. Five large gashes across each trunk to display his arrival. And maybe it was for effect too. It did used to be one of his favorite scare tactics in the past. The darkness in the protective shield was weak, and weakening by the second. The creature surely couldn't hold on too much longer, and it _knew_ Peter was there, watched as the wolf cut into each tree.

And it was afraid. Peter could feel it. Smell it. Taste it.

It was an emotion Peter lived off of. Somehow the acerbic smell of fear was as refreshing as the scent of lemons. It brought him life, awakened his mind, calmed the tension in his muscles. Fear was something that could be fed off of, and Peter had before, and would again. He was burned, electrocuted, and angry. Fear was just the whipped cream on top.

At last, he reached the small hovel. Without bothering to worry about reserving strength, the wolf grabbed the handle of the door, and ended up jerking the entire thing off, enjoying the aching crack it let off and he already imagined the sound of bone. The wolf dropped the handle and didn’t stop to watch the door fall to the ground. Instead, he stepped inside, running his claws along the stone walls as he went.

There was no fire lit in the cave. There were no glittering rays of light piercing the blackness. There were only sparks where his claws hit rock, the loud, shrill cut of nails. In his vision he could only see red, the promise of blood. And even if his eyes were a calmer, glowing, soft blue on the outside, well, he could deal with that. The Alpha trials had only ever been a chance, an idea, a guess, from the beginning. Though Peter let himself get pulled in, there were countless doubts. Becoming an Alpha was more, well-- it was only a pipe dream at this point. Something he craved, yes, but something he actually desired? Something that he actively would fight for?

Peter wasn't here because the creature lied to him. Peter didn't feel this rabidity from the seer promising him an old dream and then not following through with it. No, those would have never made him so furious he could feel it bubbling beneath his skin.

Peter was here because the seer hurt Stiles, not because it brought the Alpha position so close before his nose and then took it away again. It hurt Stiles.

And currently, the snake was writhing and wiggling down in its hole, praying that Peter didn't find him.

Praying was futile. The wolf could smell him.

A sharp kick brought the door to the cave down, cracking in on itself and dropping helplessly to the floor. He stepped over the rubble, eyes scanned the darkness until he saw a figure, curled into a ball, shivering on the floor. He smirked, lips pulling sharply over fangs. Well, this would be fun.

“Stay back, Wolf,” the creature attempted to say, the rasping in its throat so much more pronounced. It needed Stiles to die so that it could live, right? It would die without absorbing the teen’s spark. That was the entire reason it wanted Stiles, and wanted Peter to get to him.

If Peter were a better man, he would let the creature die in peace. He would understand that the creature was struggling for life. He would take pity and let it continue, slow and natural, until the creature simply stopped breathing in its sleep. If Peter was a better man, he would refuse to take a life again.

Peter was not a better man.

He clicked his claws, one by one, down the stone wall, listened to it echo around the cave. “Remember how I mentioned before that I don't take demands?” His voice was much lower than normal, softer even. What was the point of speaking loudly? Yelling was nowhere near as terrifying as a calm, conversational tone. “Well, you've already overstepped your boundaries on that.”

“You won't kill me, this is not my time,” the seer countered, though its voice began to waver.

Peter felt his smirk shift into a full on grin. He may have chuckled a bit. “ _Liar_ ,” he rumbled. “ _Not that it's much of a surprise, coming from you_.”

“I-I—“ the creature shivered just a bit more, and Peter went stalk still, delighting in watching his prey shake. Now if only he could get it to _run_. How much more of a joy would that be? Instead, the wolf hunched his shoulders and got ready to lunge as the figure, now lifting to turn its head like it could look around, huddled on the ground. “You know I speak the truth, Wolf.”

“That's two lies in my short time here, Seer. How many more would you like to tell when you know _I can see right through you_.” The words flowed easily from his mouth. Peter was surprised he remembered enough from their first interaction that he could quote the creature in front of him, but it was all the more pleasurable that he could. It just added so much to their last meeting, brought it full circle, made it special.

Also because it made the creature gasp out a kind of sob that made goose bumps rise on Peter's skin. It was just that thrilling of a sound.

“So tell me,” Peter continued, glad the echo made it hard to place exactly where he was. He could see the creature perfectly well in the dark; he doubted the seer had the same ability. “How do you see your life end, Creature?”

“I shall live _forever_ ,” it stuttered. “You do not kill me, I’ve told you this. You don’t have the mettle.”

Peter rolled his eyes and silently prayed for the patience to toy with his prey instead of just tearing the creature out of its poor, pathetic misery too quickly. This thing clearly didn’t know how many he’d killed before. “Wrong answer,” he stated, took a few quiet steps closer. “Think _really_ hard. Let’s see if you can really see into the future.”

The seer sat up a bit straighter, visibly swallowed. The smell seemed to get all that much worse. It was decaying the more riddled with anxiety it was. Charming. “There is nothing. Only darkness.”

“I'm so shocked,” Peter drawled, examining his nails just to see if they were suitable enough. And yes, they seemed sharp enough that if cut with, the creature most likely wouldn't even feel the pain at first. Perfect. “But not quite sated. You really should try harder, and if you want my humble opinion, like your life depends upon it.”

Another gasped sob. The old thing shuddered. “Y-yes, now! I-I see—“

“Not fast enough,” Peter growled out. In an instant, he was in front of the creature, wrapping his hand tightly around the things wrinkled, sunken in throat. Peter could almost feel his claws connect in the back it was so thin. So easy to crush. He smirked, lifting the creature from its curled position on the ground. It choked out, gasped, pawed uselessly at the werewolf's hand.

“Wait! Wait!” It rasped, hiccupping for air.

“It's one thing to insult me,” Peter stated, low and dangerous. “It's entirely another to test the boundaries of my territory, that territory including Stiles. Or did you not catch the scent?”

“You weren't--you weren't lying when you said--that you would kill the boy,” the creature tried to misdirect.

Peter hummed softly, he’d allow it. “But I was.”

“You—“

“Obviously you're not quite as skilled at reading people as you'd like to believe, though that hardly matters.” Peter brought the creature closer, stoked a hand almost lovingly over its bald head. “The point is that you touched my property. I can touch my property all I would like. But you...”

The wolf punctured his claws into the creature's neck one by one off to the side, but not close enough to break a vein. No, he still needed the thing alive. It gasped, shuddered, but did not cry out. Peter restrained from seeming too pleased just yet.

“Wait—“the creature pleaded. “I can still--I can still make you Alpha. I do have that power.”

Peter tilted his head to the side, couldn't decide if he was sneering or smiling at this point. “You'd make me Alpha to spare your life? No tricks this time?”

“Yes!” It coughed, black blood dripped out the sides of its mouth. “Yes--yes, I would make you Alpha. And I will not come after the boy—“

“Stiles.”

“I will not come after Stiles—“

“You won't even _think_ of Stiles.”

“No, no, he is your mate, he is—“Mate? Mates didn't even exist. Peter knew this thing was lying, knew it was pleading anything it could, but it had no point using a word like mate.

“And yet you were willing to kill my _mate_ so that you could live a while longer. Absorb his magical energy?” How did Peter let himself become so fog-headed that he couldn't see that from the beginning? Obviously Stiles really had taken off some of his edge. Or maybe Peter had wanted it taken off. Or maybe he was just that lustful for power. Things to ponder over later.

“But I do not--Just let me—“

Peter sighed softly. “Well, I always have thought of myself as a merciful man.”

“Yes--Wolf, truly merciful—“

“And I suppose I was just so close to being Alpha, wasn't I? Just the murder of a magical being? Was that how your rules went?” Peter drew in a deep, forlorn breath. “I suppose that would be rather easy. It's almost like...I'm surrounded by magical beings.” He tightened his hand on the creature's throat. It wrapped its spindly, shaking hands around Peter's wrist in a last ditch effort.

“Wolf--I—“

“Forgot that you can do magic? How nice of you to offer yourself...”

Peter dropped the creature to the ground, watched as it immediately grabbed for its neck, massaging and gasping in deep, shuddering breaths. "You know, it's been a long time since I've gotten my hands this dirty. I prefer to leave all the muscle work to Derek, and he does it so readily..." Another dramatic sigh. “Then again, for Stiles, I could be convinced to do practically anything. I do like to impress, show off a bit, it’s an ego thing.”

The creature tried to pull itself closer to the wall, like it could melt there. In fact, it might be able to. Peter slammed his foot down on the creature's, put all of his weight on it and he listened to the creature shriek at last, counted the bones there crack sharply. It was beautiful. “How many bones were in the foot again? Twenty-six I believe, was it? I seem to have only heard...twenty-three.” He shifted his foot to the side, heard the last few cracks, as well as a whimper from the creature. “You know, I just realized I didn’t get to ask my three questions.”

It tried to pull its foot away, but winced, whined slightly. However, it didn’t quite answer. Peter took that as approval.

“What does a sniveling creature like yourself do when it’s been trapped by the wolf it tricked, the wolf whose _mate_ it wounded? You’ve clearly drained your power quickly, those protection spells were puerile.”

When the seer did not answer him, Peter growled, low in his throat, reached down and grasped the creature’s wrist, twisted it until he heard bone snapping, easy as a tree branch. It cried out, tried to jerk its arm back, but it only managed to snap a few more bones in the process.

“Fine, next question,” Peter said thoughtfully. He dropped the arm, and it fell down, useless. “Why Stiles?” That question was legitimate, and Peter hadn’t actually intended to ask it, but now he wanted to know.

“T-The boy has great magical ability,” it answered shakily. “If I had gone after him on my own though, he would not…there was nothing to offer him, or you would have talked him out of it. He wouldn’t be as easily deceived.”

“Easily deceived,” Peter repeated, growing bored of the game already. He plunged his clawed hand into the creature’s side, ripped up, dragging his claws through skin. It felt like running them through silk. The creature screamed again, tried to jerk away, and Peter brought his hand back calmly, dripping blood. “Alright, last question, any of those visions involving your future coming to your mind yet?”

“Yes--I see now that--those who tell the truth...shall die, by those who lie.” It dropped its head in defeat like this was some kind of prophecy. Well, he was a seer, and apparently good at playing the part. What a show he must have put on in his prime.

“What kind of payment do I owe such a splendid prophecy?” Peter asked, biting on the tip of his finger, letting it hover over the creature, his own blood drip down onto the thing's lips. When it tried to reach its tongue out, Peter crouched down and grasped its jaw, forced his thumb between its teeth so it couldn’t bite down all the way without injuring its cheek, couldn't really stick its tongue out. In fact, the wolf shoved the flesh of its cheek into its sharpened teeth of the creature, smirked while the bones punched through. “Although, it seems a bit off. Maybe if I—“

The wolf dragged the claws of his other hand sharply over the bumpy, burned skin over the creature's eyes. All the while it shrieked, hissed, rasped, shuddered. Peter did it again. And again. He ignored the blood dripping from his fingers, ignored the screams, ignored the pleads, ignored the way the creature tried to wiggle away from him. He just kept clawing.

Clawed until the creature didn't have the effort and energy to fight back. It was only then that the wolf pulled away, lips upturned, looking at his fingers to take in every detail. “What do you say? Have you assumed a new prophecy yet?”

“Those---those--who tell the truth shall die...” it repeated, its lungs taking in air at half the speed it had been before, its chest rising and falling in jerks. Peter could just let it bleed to death.

Could.

“No, no, no, no, no,” Peter said like correcting a child. He kneeled on the floor in front of the creature, cupped his hands on the things cheeks lovingly. His voice turned matter-of-factly sweet, and yet simultaneously dripped with sarcasm. “Those who tell the truth shall live forever.”

With that, he twisted the thing’s head, jerked up. Twisted, twisted, like screwing off the cap of a bottle, and he felt the muscles tear, the bones crack, felt blood spray across his chest, stomach. Peter listened as every vein, tendon, piece of sinew snapped, jerked, broke.

After one final jerk up, Peter tore the head away from the creature's body. And there it was in his hands, his revenge for Stiles completed. He smirked at the head, tilted his own thoughtfully to the side. “I never did think about what an ugly sod you were,” he said calmly before dropping the head unceremoniously to the ground. It landed with a hollow thud, and was forgotten momentarily.

Instead, the wolf paid attention to his hands. He was filthy. Blood on everything. His face twisted into some kind of disgust while he reached for the handkerchief in his back pocket and brought it to mop up the drips that it could. His helpful, reliable little cloth.

The body below him began to sink in, turn to dust as there was no more magical energy holding it together. Peter glanced down, watched it while he wrinkled his nose, and kicked the head to the side, just to watch the ash spray through the air. “Well, there was the supposed murder of a magical being.” He sniffed nonchalantly before turning to head for the door, muttering as he went, “and look at that, I'm still alive after everything. You really should have thought of a better profession.”

How could he have been so entirely thick? Clearly his power lust really did cloud his mind. He would need to remain sharper in the future.

It was true, obviously proven and he couldn't deny it any longer that yes, he craved being Alpha. He always had, he always would. It wasn't something he should feel _guilty_ about and yet he did. He had wanted to be Alpha when Talia was named the successor. He had wanted to be Alpha before the fire, and it was the only way he knew he could survive after. The coma...he would have never survived the coma if he hadn't...

And Laura was unfortunate; he hadn't been thinking clearly. It was cruel and vicious, but he would have done it again. Still, he had dealt with his actions, handled that pain on his own. He'd chastised himself for it. He'd abused himself for it. Though he still didn't regret it. Self-preservation at its best. He would not have killed her if it hadn’t been incredibly necessary for him to survive.

However, he regretted allowing Stiles to think, for even one moment, that Peter would kill him. The wolf hated the fact that the teen so readily believed that Peter had been lying to him, was actually going to murder him to become Alpha. For once in Peter's life...someone's opinion was more important than his own.

Someone's life was more important than his own.

And that was terrifying.

If being Alpha meant no Stiles, well, Peter obviously needed to stamp out a craving for power.

***

When Peter went back to the clearing, there was no sign of Mizuki or Stiles, including either of the cars. It was disheartening, but Peter also knew that Stiles needed to be taken somewhere safe. He sent a text to Mizuki, called her several times, but she didn't answer. He even tried Jaylen and Stiles' phones, but there was nothing from them either.

There were limited options on where they could have gone though. Either Mizuki took Stiles to her home, which was doubtful, took him to Jaylen or Thomas’ places, also doubtful, or a hospital. She probably took Stiles to a hospital, mostly because Peter couldn't really remember if Mizuki did have the magical prowess to heal a wound like that. She used to be limited on her healing, but there was a chance she had improved upon it. God he hoped she had.

The wolf tried to track them, tried to follow the scent of Stiles' blood in whatever direction they may have taken but it was too long ago, there were too many things that broke through the trail. So after driving around another hour, visiting one hospital with no success, Peter made his way back to his apartment, in a much sourer mood than he had been after killing the creature. He was accomplishing nothing running around blindly.

He could understand, on some level, wanting to keep Stiles from him. But really, Mizuki didn't have a right. Stiles wasn’t hers to protect, and it wasn’t like she was some kind of saint. Mizuki had been lying to her own husband for years about even the existence of the supernatural. Mizuki didn't know that Jaylen was working on following in her mother's footsteps. Mizuki had killed countless of people, even by Peter's side. They had no right to keep Stiles from him.

Mizuki had gotten John hurt before, after all. How was this any different?

Peter wasn't...he hadn't actually planned, ever, on killing Stiles. What would be the point? He was already miserable enough. Why would he take something away that actually made him feel...pleasant?

Momentarily defeated, Peter scrubbed a hand down his face before he headed back to his apartment. He should probably shower anyway. And dispose of the clothes he was wearing, at least nothing was all that precious to him because it was covered in black blood. Probably not the smartest to head into another hospital with either, not that anyone would realize that it was blood. Maybe just a crazed, frantic man with ink all over him.

Still, it wasn't appealing to be covered in dead blood anyway.

The wolf pulled into his parking space, and for a moment, a brief, weak moment, he allowed himself to deflate, sink his head into his hands. He knew when he accepted the deal that it was a risk he had to take, that Stiles might leave if he found out Peter was trying to become Alpha again. And well, Peter had royally fucked up. Stiles not only found out, but Stiles was...

What made Peter even think that Stiles had survived this? It was a deep wound, and Stiles was human. He could very well be dead at this point in time, and that would be Peter's fault. Losing his spot in the pack, losing Alpha status, these weren't even important. Peter could have permanently lost Stiles.

The wolf dragged his fingers over his face, smearing the ink colored blood as they went, not that he cared about that either. All he cared about was finding Stiles, dead or alive, though hopefully alive. Peter needed to…apologize, he needed to do something.

Stiles never calculated into his plans, and Peter seemed to be stuck in a constant state of inadequacy.

But sitting around wasn't helping.

He pushed his phone's sound up, not that he wouldn't be able to hear it on vibrate from anywhere in his apartment, but so that he couldn't hear a phantom buzz and get his hopes up. Someone had to call him. Mizuki and Jaylen _knew_ how important Stiles was, and they wouldn't, couldn't, hold it over his head like that.

Unless Stiles asked them to.

Regardless, the weak moment was over. Peter forced himself to get out of his car and head toward the complex.

He walked with tired resignation, at least until he saw three very familiar cars parked on the opposite street. His heart raced upon seeing the blue Jeep, and Peter practically lunged for the door, didn't even want to wait for the elevator so he bound the stairs two at a time. He made it to his own doorway before he stopped, relaxed himself. He needed to appear poised, he needed to put up a good enough composure that he could handle whatever shouting was about to come his way.

The wolf listened at first. Four heartbeats sounded in the apartment, one speeding with a nervous tick, there was Thomas. One slow, steady, concentrated, that was Mizuki. Another, also slow and steady, but more alive, he knew it as Jaylen.

The last heartbeat was too slow, such a dynamic from its normal rabbit fast rhythm. It was the heartbeat of someone who was struggling.

Stiles' heartbeat was coming from the back of Peter's apartment, his bedroom. And it wasn't a positive sound.

The wolf reached out for the doorknob immediately, and growled the moment his fingers felt a shock on the metal, rearing his hand back. He'd already been electrocuted enough for the day, and Mizuki's wards would be much more powerful than the creature's. Peter took in a deep breath, kept in another growl that wanted to escape; his hand hovered near the ward. “Mizuki, let me in,” he said, because he wasn't about to beg to be let into his own apartment.

But apparently he wouldn't have to. The door cracked open slowly, Jaylen's face appeared soon after, looking Peter up and down. Both of her eyebrows lifted. “Dude, you look like shit.”

“Thank you for that sagacious summation,” Peter drawled, accompanied by a roll of his eyes. “Invite me in.”

Jaylen waved her hand slowly, and the wards seemed to wrap around Peter, pull him in and through the barrier and into his own apartment where they then released him, went back to guarding the door.

Without waiting another moment, Peter was walking to his room, ignoring Thomas and his pathetic attempt to glare Peter down, the boys nervous leg beating into the floor. Shaking the floor, actually. But Thomas did bite his nails like Stiles did when nervous. They were so oddly similar. But that wasn't a focal point. Peter needed to make sure that Stiles was okay. His only concern was Stiles. Stiles. Stiles. Stiles.

“Peter,” Mizuki said softly when Peter stepped into the room. Quickly, she moved in front of him, blocked him from entering. It took everything ounce of self-control in Peter’s body to keep him from grabbing her by the arms and throwing her aside. In fact, he did grab onto her shoulders, but held her there. She tensed, as if knowing, and grabbed onto his wrists firmly. “Peter, you can't see him yet. He's not out of the woods yet. No touching, no speaking to him, no anything. He needs healing, and only the kind I can give him.”

Which meant no pain drawing. Peter tore his eyes from Mizuki over to his bed, over to the form laying there.

And there Stiles was. Spread out on Peter's comforter. The dagger was out of his side, but the boy was pale with large circles under his eyes, head cast to the side and breathing out of his mouth in sharp, barely-there intakes. He was still unconscious, heart still beating so quietly. And then his face contorted into some kind of pain, and Peter felt like his heart was being ripped from him all over again.

“But I can take some of his pain, I can—“Peter protested, only to be pushed further out of the room by Mizuki. He let her.

“No,” she answered sharply. “You can't touch him right now.” But then she relaxed, took in a breath, her face grew softer. “Shower. Eat something. Go on a run if you have to but I need at least another hour--uninterrupted.”

And Peter understood this, he did. But he couldn't even pull his eyes away from Stiles, let alone leave his side. Not now, not that he--

“Peter Hale. You give me one hour, and I will let you in after. You'll be able to see him all you would like. As long as he...” She trailed off, and Peter tensed immediately.

If Stiles survived the night. That was how that sentence was going to end.

The wolf finally looked away, looked at the setting sun. One hour. He could keep himself occupied for one hour, right? He could keep himself away from Stiles if it meant that the boy would have a better chance. So Peter gave a nod, once, and then motioned his chin toward his closet. “I won't go near him. Though I would rather like to remove the rest of the creature from me.”

Mizuki let her eyes trail down the werewolf in front of her and then removed her hands from his wrists, looked at them now speckled with black. “Yes, that's a good idea,” she answered, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “I see that it was not a quick death. Good.”

Peter scoffed, “I don't do quick death very often.”

He went to gather new clothes as Mizuki washed her hands in the sink, and went back to tending to Stiles. The werewolf stood and watched her for a moment, trying to calm his aching heart, before he finally turned into the bathroom and locked the door behind him. In another weak moment, he fell back against it, needing something else to hold up his weight for a moment.

Stiles might die. Stiles might die.

How had it taken him this long to really figure out just how the human's death would affect him? How had he let himself fall so deep? This didn't happen to Peter, had never happened to him before, and he hadn't ever planned on having it happen to him. Yet somehow Stiles came and they weren't just playing head games anymore. Peter had known it too, he let it happen. He knew Stiles' small actions, enjoyed the touches they shared, the time spent together. Peter had started buying food in his apartment for two people months ago.

It would be cosmic irony for Peter to be responsible for the boy's death. And no, he wouldn't turn away from telling Scott and Sheriff Stilinski exactly what happened. Peter wasn't about to run from this, even if he couldn’t quite understand how it came to be Stiles he longed for. He could easily run from it all, from the emotions, from the inevitable fight, from facing Scott and John. But no, he wasn’t letting Stiles go. Not now.

The wolf took in a quiet breath and turned on the shower before stripping down out of the blood soaked clothing. The burns on his body were almost healed, but they still stung when he stood under the hot water. It didn’t matter, he dealt with it.

The wolf spent the better part of the hour scrubbing each and every place on his body, nearly rubbing his skin raw trying to get out the stains of black freckled over the length of him. This was all so familiar, hot water over burns, rubbing his skin until it was red, ached. The entire procedure was scripted into his muscle memory.

But at least he felt clean after. Well, mostly.

When the wolf got out, he dried off, making sure each and every inch of his body was dry before working on his other post-shower routines. Shaving, lotions, hair product, deodorant, brushing teeth. Each step was familiar, and each step kept his mind off of everything happening in the next room over. He could hear Stiles whimper, groan, twist and turn as Mizuki tried to heal the wound. Peter wished, in that moment, and maybe for the first time in his life, that he didn't have the hearing he did. But he also just couldn't force himself to tune the noise out.

When he was finally finished, and dressed, the wolf stepped out into the bedroom. He didn't spare a look at Stiles and Mizuki, simply went out to Thomas and Jaylen in his living room.

Thomas was immediately up, trying to shove his smaller chest against Peter's in some kind of masculine display of 'you're the one who got my friend hurt and I am his white knight.' Jaylen called the boy's name, but he didn't back off. Peter flashed his eyes and growled, but didn't move to shove the boy away. It was well deserved, after all. And he had told himself he’d take whatever chastisement came his way.

“You think you can just use him like that?” Thomas asked, more than ready to fight a werewolf if he had to. “So what, you just go around making everyone trust you and then you just decide 'hey, it benefits me to kill you, so I don't care about your feelings, you're my next victim'? What? What? Like that's acceptable to you? Do you even know how he—“

“Thomas!” Finally Jaylen's hiss connected to the boy's ears, and Thomas stepped back, but didn't take his eyes off Peter for a moment. There was fire there.

“You better beg him to even let you back in his presence. You better get down on your hands and knees and beg. And if I even think you’re planning something against him, I will find the most painful wolfsbane on this planet and inject it right into your veins.” Thomas growled, threatened. It was very wolf-like, actually. He would have made a good one. Maybe if Peter had been Alpha.

Despite the threat, Peter didn't back down. He stood his ground and watched Thomas, on edge from being yelled at, though still mildly amused. In the end however, he decided he wasn't about to stand and continue to be lectured in his own house by a pup. Mizuki was different, but Thomas, well, Thomas was nowhere near the equal of anyone in this room. “I don't have to justify anything to you,” Peter answered before turning and walking into the kitchen.

The wolf felt Thomas' eyes burning against the back of his skull the entire way. But the human really wasn't any kind of threat. The boy had said his bit, played grand defender, he would be quiet from there on out.

Peter waited the longest fifteen minutes of his life before Jaylen peeked her head into the kitchen, looked at the wolf with his hands gripping the sink, head bowed. On anyone else it would have looked like stomach illness, but of course, Peter was a werewolf and didn't get sick like that. It was just mental exhaustion, anxiousness. Worry. Maybe fear.

“Mom popped her head out. I'm guessing you can go in,” the girl said softly, and then she was gone, off to relax Thomas, running her hand up and down her boyfriend's arm while he went back to chewing at his nail and jiggling his foot.

There was no hesitation on Peter's part, however. He moved for his room as quickly as he could, and when he opened the door, Mizuki was standing with her hand on Stiles' forehead, whispering softly to him in some language Peter didn't know. He assumed it was a higher level of magic, but couldn’t be sure. Either way, she didn't acknowledge he'd come in at all. The wolf took that as a good sign.

Practically tip-toeing over, Peter made it to the bed, and looked down on Stiles resting. There was no twisted up face of pain this time, which was something Peter was silently thankful of. The wolf crawled, as carefully as possible, onto the bed. He lay down, gently, by Stiles' side, and made every effort not to stir the boy in any way. His wolf had a desire to nuzzle into Stiles' neck, breathe him in and curl around him for as long as it took to heal. But he didn't. Instead, he pressed a soft hand to Stiles' cheek, watched as pain leeched into his own skin like black spider webs working their way up his arm. Stiles hummed softly, before it turned into a soft groan.

This was when Mizuki pulled back, looked at the both of them. She looked exhausted. Peter would have to owe her so many favors after this. “I'm going to run out to get some antibiotics for him, and pain killers. He'll need them. I also have several teas that should help with possible infection, pain, other various complications. You two...take some time. Is there anything else you need?”

“Have Thomas run to Stiles' dorm room and fetch his pillow?” Peter asked quietly, though he was only focused on the boy in front of him. He counted each of Stiles' moles about nine times. “He'll want his pillow.”

Without a word, Mizuki left the room, nodding her head in agreement. Peter could hear her talking quietly with Thomas outside, and though the boy stubbornly didn't want to leave Stiles with Peter, he left either way. Jaylen promised to remain and keep an eye on them, but Peter could hear the blip in her heartbeat. The wolf promised to thank her later.

While he waited, Peter placed his head down on the pillow next to Stiles', pulled the boy's hand into his own, and simply focused on drawing out as much pain as he could. Stiles should have gone to a hospital, Stiles still should go to a hospital, but the werewolf couldn't let him go now. Not yet.

It didn't take entirely long for him to start drifting off, listening to the sound of Stiles' heartbeat.

He awoke to Thomas bringing in Stiles' pillow. The boy was still glaring at Peter, but the look had softened at that point. Peter took the pillow, carefully put it down on the bed, but didn't dare move Stiles to put it under the boy's head. And then Thomas was gone.

Mizuki came in with pills. A lot of pills. But she placed them on the table next to the bed and left once more.

Peter knew they were all out in his living room, gathered on the couch and his chair. They were whispering about them, and he didn’t care to listen in.

The wolf regretted showing his softness, his weakness to them. But at the moment, he also didn't care. He would never be so tender so openly, but the chance of Stiles dying was enough to push him out of his own boundaries. Peter didn't care what others thought of him if it meant him caring for Stiles. He needed to be there by the boy's side, and he would break the trachea of anyone who tried to use it against him, or even mention it in the future.

He drifted off again, in between spurts of drawing Stiles' pain.

***

Around eight in the morning, Peter woke to a soft groan coming from the teen next to him. The wolf's eyes opened abruptly during the lightest sleep of his life, needing to know everything was okay. He sat up as quickly, but smoothly, as possible, looked Stiles over. The heartbeat was stronger, color was coming back to the boy's cheeks, and Peter felt his own heart racing once more.

Carefully, he leaned over Stiles, cupped the boy’s cheek in hand again. “Have you passed through this night?” Peter asked softly, leaning down and putting his forehead to Stiles'. “Are you well?”

Again, Stiles groaned softly. But gently, a butterfly opening its wings for the first time, his eyelids fluttered open, and then he was looking up at the wolf above him. Peter took in a breath, pulled away out of worry. Maybe Stiles didn’t want him so close. Except then the teen attempted a kind of smirk before looking around sluggishly. “Well look at that, I'm not dead,” he said weakly, eyes closing automatically.

It had happened. Peter was out of witty remarks. He stared down at the boy and released the breath he was holding in, his hand drawing more pain from the teen. “No. Not dead,” Peter answered quietly.

As Stiles drifted off to sleep, Peter wondered if this was possibly, horribly worse than simple fondness. He’d definitely jumped off the cliff into something far more petrifying.

***

Later that day, Mizuki cleared Peter out to give Stiles another hour of healing and therapy. The wolf was reluctant, but listened none-the-less. Stiles needed healing that Peter couldn’t give him and he needed to accept that. To busy himself, he walked into the bathroom and splashed some cold water on his face in an attempt to clear his mind.

But as he looked up, his reflection made him pause. No, his reflection made him freeze.

It was unheard of. It was unreal. It was impossible.

Where had been his normal, pale blue eyes, staring back at him were bright, blood red ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter tortures the seer in response to it hurting Stiles. He hunts it down, chokes it, claws the skin where its eyes should be, breaks its foot and arm, punctures its teeth through its cheek, punctures through its neck, and finally tears its head off. So, a fair amount of torture. Idk how gory it is really but I thought it was intense, just a warning. And thanks!
> 
> Also...SURPRISE


	4. With Tired Eyes, Tired Minds, Tired Souls, We Slept

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is doing his best to keep Stiles alive after the boy was stabbed in the side by the creature. Stiles makes it through the first night, but doesn't fully wake up until a few days after. But the time he really does, he has a decision to make, one that doesn't allow Peter to be in his life after this betrayal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! I'll fix it!

In all of the years of fighting terrifying supernatural creatures, Stiles had never gotten seriously injured.

Not like this at least.

There had been a sharp feeling when it happened, but it had still felt surreal, like nothing had actually happened to him, that it had been like watching a movie. Even seeing the handle of the dagger sticking out his side wasn't enough to prove that he had actually been stabbed. But then he had just...lost consciousness. He wasn't able to feel anything but sharp, gripping pain, wetness spreading over his shirt, Peter's arms. And then a dull, constant ache that occasionally spiked into something worse.

Peter.

Stiles had been betrayed (right?), that was the main point of this. Peter had betrayed him, used him. How much had Peter lied about? If Stiles decided to stay, to forgive him, how many more times would he let Peter betray him? What would happen when Peter really did kill him? Was Stiles just going to accept this? Take a chance and a risk on this happening again? Or was he going to cut off all ties with the wolf? Maybe move schools. Y’know, if he lived.

Stiles wanted to cry, or scream, or fight back, or punch the ground, but he couldn't. He was stuck in his own mind. Trapped. He couldn't move, he couldn't do anything but think.

And dream.

At first he couldn't stop dreaming. He dreamed of different things being pierced, different things being impaled. A needle through an orange skin. A knife through a steak. A sword through a dummy. Scissors through a mannequin. A jousting stick through a knight. A pushpin through corkboard. Each time something pierced, it was mysteriously the side. And each time, it was paired with his own pain, a reminder of the sharp stab to his stomach. How could Stiles be so stupid? Why did he just stand there?

And then his body was crumbling apart. He dreamed that his body was falling apart, piece by piece. He crumbled to the ground and lay there, unmoving, paralyzed, eyes scanning blackness for just _some way out_. There were voices, in the darkness somewhere. Words being said to him, but he couldn't make it out.

There were arms wrapped around him, and then there weren't. And Stiles just wanted them back, because they were important. They belonged to someone important.

Peter. He hated himself for wanting Peter to be there.

Because in his mind all he could picture were bright red eyes, sneering lips, a frothing mouth, sharp teeth. Red eyes. Alpha. And growling. Lots of growling. Late nights at the school and running and dead bodies piling up on top of each other. A ripped apart body in the woods. Wolfsbane. Fire. Alpha.

Peter.

Peter chasing Scott in fury. Peter cornering Stiles, chasing him in the parking garage. Peter biting Stiles’ best friend, changing Scott's life forever. Peter offering to bite Stiles, and smirking at the word “no.” Peter sneering, tearing Derek down. Peter bantering with Stiles. Peter killing. Peter protecting Stiles. Stiles protecting Peter. The two of them protecting each other.

Peter's ass, man. That was definitely a subject of Stiles' dreams (any way to make himself feel better, right?). Hell, Stiles could write a book about it. Sonnets! God bless Peter's genetics.

Except, he wasn't supposed to be thinking good things about Peter. No, Peter betrayed him. The older man was a power hungry wolf with no other emotions in the world than to boost himself among the ranks and ignore anyone he may hurt along the way. The guy probably didn't even realize that Stiles had somehow managed to sink so far into a crush that he actually, really, definitely liked the crazy, psycho, killer werewolf. (Really, really liked a serial killer, God, could Stiles be more of a fuck up?)

But just as Stiles had gotten over his crush on Lydia Martin, the girl he swore he would spend the rest of his life with if _she could just notice him instead of Jackson_ , he could get over Peter. Not that he had started making the same kind of ten year plan with the wolf; after all, planning a life with an already avid schemer was probably not the best idea. Stiles had wanted to try the whole fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants rule, and obviously that didn't work out for him.

But in the end...he had just wanted solid proof that Peter had changed. He wanted to go back to Scott and shove it in his best friend's face, saying hey, look, I can take care of myself without you. And look, I have good judgment of people, just like you. But no, Stiles and Scott, they always worked better as a team. Scott had strengths were Stiles didn’t, and Stiles had them where Scott didn’t. But they needed to agree with each other to work together.

And Scott couldn't have a low opinion of Peter without Stiles having one too, right?

So what was Stiles' opinion of Peter now?

What did he truly think of the wolf, red eyes and fangs and all, remembering what Peter had done, what Peter just did, what he was going to do? What did Stiles think of him? What did Stiles think after the months of spending time together? After his crush? (Always a crush on the imperfect, the terrifying, the beautiful, the dangerous.)

Because he should hate Peter, and decide once and for all to drop the wolf. Even if it wasn’t Peter’s fault, even if he hadn’t meant for Stiles to die, even if there was another half of the story, Stiles should drop him.

Honestly though, and this was where it got really fucked up--Stiles didn't really feel that differently toward the wolf. And that was frightening. Somehow, he knew, had been prepared for Peter to make plans like this. He was prepared for Peter to turn on him, do something without fully thinking about the consequences. And Stiles didn't care. Because his thoughts were still working, he was still dreaming, so he couldn't be dead. And yeah, he was pissed, yeah, he would yell at Peter the moment he felt better. This was a horrible, terrible relationship and Stiles shouldn't even be thinking about it he should leave, he should fight, he should shoot Peter with a wolfsbane bullet.

But then his mind supplied him with the look in Peter's eyes when Stiles fell. It was the last thing he could remember. It was the image that burned into his mind. Not the pain. Not the darkness. Not the dull ache. Not the betrayal. It was Peter's broken face as Stiles collapsed.

It stuck with him.

Peter did care about him. And Stiles couldn't help but know the betrayal was false. Even if he actually felt betrayed. He knew Peter had made a bad decision, but he hadn't actually intended to kill Stiles, had he? And really, wouldn’t Stiles do the exact same thing if put in the right situation? It wasn’t like Stiles was a saint.

Who knew? This train of thought was exhausting, and Stiles could feel himself be more spent by the moment. Or maybe that was the massive bleeding. Probably the massive bleeding. There was a whirl, a rush, movement, and he knew he was being carried, he knew when he was in a car, he was almost aware of the world, but he couldn't make out any of the things being said, he couldn’t make anything tangible.

Someone made Peter go away. It was a relief, in a way, but also all the more terrifying. He wanted Peter's arms to ground him, and right now he didn't have anything holding him down. He could so easily float away, leave into the darkness and not worry about anything else. He wouldn't have to worry about the betrayal, or anything really. He could just...he could just...

***

The drifting in and out of consciousness was the worst part. Stiles felt like he could handle a lot, but losing grasp on his own thoughts was frustrating, and he couldn't do anything about it. It was bad enough that his thoughts raced in his head on a daily basis, and now they were running with nowhere to go. No actions, no research, no writing, no anything. He couldn't do anything.

Mizuki was doing her best to heal him, that he understood. He also knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he just couldn't give up. He needed to see his father, he needed to see Scott. God, he needed to see Peter too. Where was the wolf? When would he come back?

Stiles had woken up somewhere on the trip to Peter's apartment. He'd woken up while he was being placed in the bed too. Thomas frantic, Jaylen anxious, Mizuki completely calm. They'd taken him to Peter's though. Why Peter's? Why not a hospital?

But then he'd been out again. And he lost his thoughts.

Now though, it seemed like there was something drawing him forward. There was something around him, near him, that he needed to wake up and get to. And he still hurt; he still hurt so badly, it seemed to seep through his body, filling him like filling up a glass of water, or was that darkness? He wasn't sure. But there was something telling him to wake up. Someone he needed to wake up for, drawing him out of his own head and to the surface where he could float.

And then it was gone again.

Everything was gone again.

***

Warmth. That's what he woke up with. It was so much better than the sharp, cold pain he had been experiencing for he wasn't sure how long. Stiles woke up to warmth surrounding him. And yes, pain too, there was pain and it set him into hyperawareness compared to the dullness before, each of his senses sharp except he just couldn't quite open his eyes yet. Instead, he groaned, softly, more than glad to hear his own sound.

He was alive. He could move.

The warmth had come some time ago, he wasn't sure when, but it was welcomed. Someone was holding his hand. Someone was touching him. Big hands. Big, familiar hands with thick fingers that he knew, understood. He'd felt them before. He leaned into them now. Surrounded in the smell of Peter, Peter who he should hate, Peter who he should shove away from him.

A voice, in his ear, it sounded wrecked, scared, so not like Peter. “Have you passed through this night?” Yes, he'd made it. Whatever weird journey it was. Whatever jumble of thoughts it was. Stiles had made it. “Are you well?” Was he?

He heard himself groan once more, felt breath on his face. And from somewhere, he wasn't certain where, he managed to get the energy to open his eyes. Slowly, at first, but revealing Peter, so close to him, forehead pressed against his own, Peter was _worried_. (Well, he never expected he'd see the day.) Peter was leaning over him, each line in his face emphasized, terrified, the wolf who'd lied to him. (What was new?)

And Stiles couldn't think of anything else except how gorgeous Peter was in that moment, and wanting to wipe the look from the wolf's face. Peter should only ever look like he'd just beaten someone in a game of Poker with some underhanded move.

Stiles blinked a few times, proving to himself this wasn't another dream with Peter (like many of the intimate, lying in bed together dreams he'd had about the werewolf before that he was not about to let his mind get to because he was fairly certain he was just in boxers between Peter's silk sheets and plus Peter had a nose and this would all end up terribly). But he blinked, and moved his hand. Not a dream then.

_Well look at that, I’m not dead_. Wait, he was saying that out loud.

And Peter had pulled away for some reason. Why did he always pull away when he realized Stiles was aware of how close they were?

Why was Stiles even thinking generally nice thoughts about the wolf at all?

“No. Not dead,” Peter had answered, and Stiles already felt his eyes closing again. He was too tired to keep them open, he had no energy, he had no...

The teen felt his head lifted, and he cracked one eye open to see Peter, cupping him gently, cradling him, until Stiles' head was comfortably resting on a pillow much more cool. A pillow that smelled like him instead. Peter had remembered Stiles' pillow?

Well, that action right there might just make up for the lying.

At least until Stiles winced, felt a sharp pain at his side. Peter shushed him, squeezed tightly on Stiles' hand, and the teen had no choice but to respond, and then fall back asleep.

***

Each time Stiles woke over the next few days, Peter was at his side. They didn't really speak; Stiles didn't feel like he had the energy. But Peter helped him. Peter helped him eat, drink, get out of bed to use the bathroom. Peter helped Stiles do practically anything and everything. The wolf probably waited right outside the door the entire time Stiles showered (or at least attempted) the first time, just in case Stiles made a noise of discomfort, or stumbled. It was so unlike Peter.

Each and every one of these moments of waking was foggy at best. Stiles didn't remember most of them. Sometimes he didn't even open his eyes. He assumed it was the pain killers, because Peter wasn't taking pain from him that much anymore. But the wolf kept his hands on Stiles either way. Like if he wasn't in constant contact, he would miss it if Stiles slipped away.

God, give Stiles _some_ credit. He just survived a crazy stab wound by some weird guy in a black cloak. Stiles should be getting medals at this point, be placed in some highly honored order of humans that stood up to the supernatural. Stiles was officially a badass.

The first time Stiles actually felt completely lucid though, Peter was asleep.

The wolf hadn't been sleeping when Stiles woke yet, and the teen figured he'd just reached the point of exhaustion that even the uptick in heartbeat didn't stir the wolf. Peter must have stayed up the past few days straight. It made Stiles ache. They were all so exhausted, so tired.

With a bit of struggle, Stiles rolled onto his good side, his body shifting awkwardly so he would feel the least amount of pain. There was a large bandage across his stomach, and he wondered if Peter or Mizuki had dressed it. But the teen faced the sleeping wolf next to him now, looked down at their hands laced together loosely, small, black wisps of pain still trailed from Stiles' hand, up Peter's wrist. The wolf had probably drained himself.

Did this all make up for it? Clearly Peter was...sorry. And it seemed to be sincere, but should Stiles forgive it? Could he deal with constantly being worried that Peter might kill him on day?

The teen took in a deep breath, reached his thumb up and pulled Peter's lower lip down. The man never looked as unkempt as he did now. The wolf had bedhead, and was wearing a wrinkled white t-shirt and sweatpants. He was unshaven, more stubble than Stiles was using to seeing spread over his jaw. And he wasn't resting under the covers with Stiles, he was over them, like it was a boundary he couldn't cross. Never would Peter openly allow someone to see him like this, not so vulnerable, not so disheveled, not so emotional.

Peter really was worried that Stiles wouldn't survive.

But Stiles wasn't ready to deal with what they needed to discuss, what he needed to tell Peter. He wasn't ready for any of this. He'd come to school to get away from the supernatural, get away from the aches and pains, the danger. Get away from pack. And he'd found Peter and was pulled right back into the world. And then he was lied to. He proved to be expendable.

And he couldn't live like that.

So he leaned in close, pressed a warm, brief kiss to Peter's cheek, and then rolled away. Stiles pulled his hand back as he maneuvered his way out of the bed, onto his feet. A moment later, hissing through the pull of pain, he was heading for the door.

It was dark outside, and Jaylen and Thomas were asleep on the couch, waiting ever so patiently.

And Stiles ached to do this to them, do this to Peter, even do this to his father because he knew the consequences. Either way, he gathered what he could of his things, and called his dad as he left the apartment, limping the entire way, a hand running along the wall to help keep his balance.

“Dad, I—“ he started when the phone picked up halfway through the first ring, his dad's worried voice of “Stiles!” making his own voice crack. “Daddy, can you come pick me up and bring me home?”

***

Okay, so he was a bit of a coward. Stiles was stubborn as hell like eighty-five percent of the time, but right now he was choosing to run away from all his problems with his tail between his legs. Avoiding the conflict seemed like the best course of action. There was no way that he wanted to deal with the whole situation with Peter, and the whole situation with being nearly mortally wounded, and he didn't want to deal with Peter dealing with him being wounded, and he didn't want too--- _Oh God, Stiles' mind needed to shut up_.

The sheriff had raced down to Palo Alto right after Stiles had called. The teen managed to drive to his dorm, despite the fact that he was on multiple painkillers and couldn’t sit up straight, and remained in his Jeep outside of his building until he saw the Sheriff’s car with the lights firing. Stiles smirked to himself slowly, glad that his dad would totally go against the law to come and pick him up.

It was an awkward conversation, having to tell his father about being stabbed in the side. John was _livid_ , but not at Stiles, not really. The sheriff was about to drive to Peter's apartment and full out hack the werewolf in half though. It was not the reaction Stiles had wanted, but it was hard to explain to his father that, sure, Peter had been the one to put him in danger even though it had totally kind of been accidentally on purpose (“I swear Peter didn’t know about the dagger!”). The betrayal was all mental, all on Stiles, because Peter didn’t actually hurt Stiles, and sure Peter had _brought_ the creature, and Stiles didn’t doubt Peter wanted to be Alpha, but Peter turned on the creature, not on Stiles. (And yes, he finally did say “Peter”.) So there was no point for John to interfere with the werewolf, right? This was for Stiles to handle alone. But his father didn’t exactly see it that way.

Then Stiles had to sit and listen to his father complain about Peter the entire way home, and it was totally just because of Stiles' safety (“he knew you were in danger and he still did it!”), really, but it wasn't very enjoyable. Stiles' own feelings about Peter were confusing enough, and listening to his father growl about him (“protector! Ha! Guy couldn’t protect anything. He should be ashamed of putting any human in danger like that”), well, it was kind of defeating the purpose of Stiles trying to _not_ think about the werewolf. And the way he’d held Stiles' hand so tightly.

The teen sighed softly, huddled against the window, enjoying the cool feel on his forehead, and at least finding safety and comfort in the presence of one John Stilinski.

He glanced at his dad, their faces only lit by the dashboard lights and headlights. Stiles wondered how many times John asked himself where he went wrong having a son like this, one so ready and easy to jump into danger with terrifying storybook creatures. So Stiles didn't really have the heart to tell his father that he was in love with a werewolf twice his age that had murdered people in cold blood before and had risked Stiles life countless times. Love.

And on that note, he closed his eyes, and blacked out his thoughts.

He woke up in front of Beacon Hills hospital. Melissa McCall was waiting at the entrance, anxious, worried, hands cupped in front of her chest. Great. Just what Stiles wanted: everyone in Beacon Hills to know that they were right about Peter, and Stiles was wrong. Everyone was totally going to jump to conclusions about the situation, and in a way, they were going to be right about the lying, about what had happened.

But they weren’t right about Peter, and Stiles wasn’t wrong, and there was no way trying to explain it to them.

But he gave her a hug when she rushed over anyway, buried his face against her shoulder, let her lead him to a room like he was so, so fragile.

Maybe it wasn't such a great decision to leave.

***

The doctors and nurses were shocked that whatever at-home remedies Stiles had used for a stab wound seemed to work so well. There was no damage to internal organs, and the red, new flesh around the shrinking wound proved that the wound had been a fairly big size, would have more certainly hit something. They were completely baffled that Stiles hadn't died, from a punctured lung or from bleeding out. He didn't tell them that it had only happened three days ago, because they all thought it had been at least three weeks.

But he got stitches, and proper pain meds, and watched over like a hawk.

Melissa and John had some paranoia that Peter or the creature would either come to finish the job (“what if he chooses to be Alpha, Stiles?), or that the wolf would come to steal Stiles away. Stiles found them to be overreacting. He hadn't even gotten a text from Peter asking where he was. Surely the wolf had to have woken up by now? Realized that Stiles was gone?

So why hadn't he sent some kind of message?

Stiles got sick of looking at his phone and shoved it under his pillow so he wouldn't be tempted.

***

When Stiles woke the next day, he woke to someone holding his hand. And though he was only half aware of it, he smiled to himself, gave the hand a reassuring squeeze. So his dad let Peter in after all?

Except...the squeeze back was too soft. The hand was too small, with too polished nails.

“Stiles?” A female voice. Most certainly not the voice of Peter Hale.

The teen cracked one eye open, and in the radiance of the morning light, ethereal, there sat Lydia Martin, somewhere between keeping her emotions in and her eyes tearing up. She smiled, tight lipped, like she was trying to keep her chin from quivering. It made him remember why he had been so infatuated with her. She was practically a goddess. If only she had noticed him like this, been worried about him like this, three years ago.

“Hey Lydia,” he said with a half grin, too tired from pain meds, voice graveled after being nearly unused for a few days.

“You’re a complete idiot, Stiles Stilinski,” she said, though it was soft and warm. She leaned forward and pressed a glossed kiss to his cheek. “I came as soon as I got the call in the morning. The others wanted me too—“

“Be the buffer to see if I'd allow them to come in?” He finished.

“Basically,” she agreed with a sigh. She ran her other hand over his, then moved it up to judge the temperature of his forehead. She smoothed his hair back slowly, and Stiles practically melted into it. “Honey, what happened? Your dad said something about...Peter doing this?”

Stiles shook his head slowly, God, he was already so tired, and he couldn't think straight. He pulled his brow together, forced himself to focus, tried to pinpoint the middle of Lydia's palm on his forehead. “No, no it wasn't Peter, no, he didn't do it. I mean, he didn’t stab me. It's--complicated.”

“You know that Scott is practically having a conniption right now. He thinks Peter had some grand plan to kill you. He’s convinced your dad too. I think they might be making wanted posters.”

“Mother fu-“ Stiles tried to get out of the bed, but Lydia (gently) shoved him back down, held him there. Stiles hissed at the tension in his side. “No, stop them. It wasn't Peter. Yeah, he was an asshole, and I will deal with the situation the way I want to deal with the situation, but not until then. Will they let me be an adult for once? I can handle this on my own, be mad about it on my own.”

“They're worried, can you blame them? Stiles, you were stabbed in the side.”

“And once you were almost choked to death, but everyone decided to be all buddy-buddy with the Darach because we needed her,” Stiles answered, a bit ashamed that he brought that memory up to Lydia, but it was true. “Maybe it’s not really the same, but well, I _need_ Peter.”

The room went far too quiet, and Lydia was staring at him with this weird look on her face, and Stiles didn't really understand it but he didn't like it. It was like she was scrutinizing every small detail of him, and God Lydia was a genius, she was totally going to--

“Stiles.” Yep, there it was. She reached her hand to grip onto his. “I know you’re on a lot of pain meds, but I don't really doubt your judgment. However, I want you to really think about your answer to this question I am about to ask you.”

“Yes,” Stiles said, before she even had time to ask it. “Yes, I am—“ He lowered his voice immediately, aware that there were probably werewolves outside. When he glanced at the door, Lydia did too, and then she leaned in closer. “Can we just not talk about it? I am, totally, completely, and idiotically head over heels, and I know the problems, I know it’s super messed up, and you were one of the first ones I was going to apologize to because he was an even bigger dick to you, but just...”

Lydia gave him a sharp tap to the temple before getting up and sitting next to him on the bed. “Yes, it is completely moronic of you. But, if it's what you feel and what you want, despite my own personal feelings on the matter, then I support you one hundred percent of the way.” She smiled softly, squeezed Stiles' hand. “I suppose I did sort of push you into the magic thing anyway, not that I expected this would happen, but I partially blame myself.”

“We need to make my dad and Scott chill out,” Stiles answered quickly. “And I'm super not ready to tell them, they just can't know yet, but this is bigger than they are. I came home, yeah, I was confused, I was hurt, I was scared, I felt betrayed, but this isn't—“

Lydia placed a finger on his lips to shush him, tilted her head down, her hair falling to one side in a wave. How could he have gotten such a perfect, beautiful friend? “Not their fight. I understand, I'll help in any way I can. But you need to rest.” She hesitated, then added, “has Peter tried to contact you? Did you tell him you were leaving?”

“No,” Stiles fiddled with the blanket, looked down at his hands. He didn't know if Peter had sent him anything, he hadn't checked, and his phone was probably dead under the pillow anyway. “I left while he was asleep.”

“Okay,” Lydia supplied before leaning in and giving Stiles a firm peck on the cheek, leaving (he was sure) another large lip gloss stain in its wake. “I'm going to give you a minute. I'm sure your dad will want to be the next one in, but I also think you need to talk to Scott.”

“That can't be put off just a little longer?”

“No,” Lydia said simply, standing up off the bed and brushing down the front of her skirt. “You two can't put this off anymore. You've driven each other mad enough. I'm not saying that you need to immediately patch things together, but I don't even know what you're fighting about anymore and I'm sure you don't either. So, simply put, you need to pull up the big boy pants, kiss, and make up.”

Stiles cracked a smile, and finally looked back up at Lydia from where he was staring at his hands. “Fine. I will, at least.”

“Good.” Lydia turned toward the door, placed her hand on the handle, and then paused to look back at him. “We'll figure this out, Stiles. We always do. Peter included and all.” And then she was gone.

Stiles couldn't have expressed in words the amount of love he had for her in that moment.

***

“Hey, Kiddo,” his dad said when he entered the room, fully dressed in uniform. God, Stiles had made him lose so much work already. But his dad didn't seem upset, just worried. The sheriff came forward and placed a hand on Stiles’ head, ruffled his hair. Stiles grinned and lightly batted at him. “How you feeling? Any better than last night?”

“Yeah, better,” Stiles answered. And he was better, at least his side was. Mizuki's healing had been amazing, and she was very dedicated, but way more could be said for medical grade pain killers, and man, he appreciated them. Except, well, Stiles wasn't really taking his mental health into account at this moment. He wasn't much better than the previous night, if that was the case. “Melissa is amazing, like always.”

“Good, I'm glad,” the sheriff said before looking at the ground. “Lydia told me that you're saying this wasn't all Peter's fault? You don't want to try and go after him? Why?”

God damnit. “Dad, I told you it wasn’t his fault from the beginning. I don’t want to go after him because he never had any intention of hurting me. Yeah, he made a stupid mistake, but it's my place to be mad at him, no one else's. Peter was never planning on hurting me though, I know it.” It had just taken Stiles too long to reach that conclusion. But no, Peter really wasn't there to hurt Stiles. Maybe the wolf had lied to the creature and said he would, maybe he set Stiles up, but he wasn’t ever going to go through with it. The goal was always to kill the creature. The realization made Stiles want to suck in a breath. And Stiles still had to press through his father shaking his head. “It was the seer thing, he’s responsible for it all, but I doubt you'd be able to find the guy through the system. Not that I don't think Peter hasn’t taken care of him already. I'm sure the seer was probably quartered or something but—“

“Stiles, he can't just go around murdering people and plotting to kill my son, or letting you be killed or anything!”

“Yeah, well Dad, surprise, I've killed a few supernatural creatures too and you know what? I ended up saving a bunch of people because of it! I stabbed a lamia in the stomach and then sliced her throat, but she ate babies. She fed off of babies, and she was going to kill me too! And I was too slow to protect Peter then too and he almost died!”

“Then it was for your survival!”

“Why is it protection when I do it but when Peter does it he's suddenly a serial killer? When has Peter _ever_ killed someone that hadn't already killed someone else? Someone who wasn’t trying to kill us?”

The sheriff stopped, and the tension in the room that had been crackling moments before died down. John stared at his son, momentarily at a loss for words, and both off them heaved a few quiet, heavy breaths in the room. As a last ditch effort, he added, “doesn't the guy--doesn't Peter have blue werewolf eyes though? Doesn't that mean he's killed someone innocent?”

Stiles glanced at his hands. “Yeah, well, so has Derek, and you seemed to be able to tolerate him at least. I've never asked Peter about his eyes because it wasn't my business, but if it was anything like Derek's story, you really don't want to hear about it.”

John got quiet again, leaned against the back of the chair he was sitting in. He didn't know anything about his son's life. He didn't really know all that much about his son. How did he keep screwing this up? John sighed, scrubbed a hand over his face. “Fine,” he conceded after a moment, “alright. I won't put up an APB on him. But that doesn't mean you're running back to school yet and hanging out with him again. I want you to stay home. We'll contact the school, tell them everything that happened. You're not—“

“Dad, you can't just pull me out like that! I have work to do! I have a scholarship!”

“This is nonnegotiable, Stiles,” John answered, standing up from the chair. “I'll make the calls; I'll make sure you don't lose the scholarship. Something tells me they won't drop you knowing you got stabbed in the side. But for right now, no, you're not going back. End of discussion.”

And before Stiles could protest, his father was walking out of the room, closing the door behind him. Stiles felt lost once more, dropped his head onto the pillow and blinked to keep his eyes from burning. No, he was so not going to cry here either. Fucking god damnit, why did Peter have to be such a complete and total moron? Why did he have to mess everything up?

***

Scott didn't come to see him until the next day. Stiles was told he would be getting out of the hospital later, but Melissa had walked away with the papers and hadn't returned. Stiles felt antsy, wanted to get out and go home and maybe just sulk lamely for a few days while he tried to contact Peter and sort this whole fucking mess out. But just when he was thinking about actually getting up and going to find Melissa himself, his door cracked open, and through it he saw a very familiar brown eye. Stiles froze in place.

“Stiles,” Scott asked in a hushed tone. “Is it uh--cool if I come in?”

Those damn puppy eyes. Stiles could never refuse those damn puppy eyes. He rested back on the bed and let out a sigh, motioned for Scott to enter. The motion at least made his best friend brighten a bit, but someone had to physically shove him through the door, Stiles' bet was on Melissa.

“So, uh, how've you been?” Scott asked, awkwardly standing by the door, his hand lifting to rub the back of his head. It shouldn't be this awkward between them. Scott should have burst into the room before anyone else and grabbed Stiles into a hug, completely forgetting about the stab wound and then feeling bad when he realized it again. That was how they were supposed to work. Not like this.

“Well, you know, despite the whole blade piercing my liver, the near death experience, and the outrageous amounts of pain, I'd say I'm pretty much in my party god form,” Stiles answered without missing a beat, completely deadpan.

Scott winced, and didn't seem to realize it was lighthearted sarcasm, not that Stiles was actually mad. “I didn't mean—“

“Was a joke, Scotty,” Stiles answered, and he started to fumble with the sheets again just to give him something to do in the awkward tension. “Let’s be real, I don't even have a party god form.”

Finally, finally, Scott's lips ticked upward, and he took a few more steps into the room. “Man, I've...I've missed your joking. And me not getting that you're joking. And then you having to explain it...”

“It's not funny if you have to explain the joke though, Scott. You need to start grabbing those things that try to fly over your head, dude.”

Scott nodded, slowly sat down in the chair. “I mean, my reflexes are faster now, I can catch them.”

“Hey,” Stiles grinned, lightly swung his hand out, but Scott wasn't close enough for Stiles to hit the Alpha in the chest or on the shoulder or anything. Not like they usually played. “Look at who's starting to get some movie references too. And that one wasn't even a direct quote!”

“Yeah,” Scott smiled, his shoulders seeming to loosen where they were coiled. “Was a good movie.”

“You're damn right, bro.”

And then they were back to a momentary awkward silence. Stiles sniffed and shifted in his bed, Scott searched the ground like it held all of the answers.

“So,” Scott started, leaning forward. “I know that you've kind of...already probably explained this a million times but—“

“Listen,” Stiles interrupted, holding a hand up to stop Scott. “No, it's fine, I'll explain it to you, but you need to actually try and understand me, okay? And you're probably going to be pissed off, you're probably going to tell me I'm dumb for trusting him, but you're getting the full story, and you're gonna realize that even if he made a mistake, I can't hold it against him for forever. Don't make me bring up all the mistakes you've made either, because I will, and I will start from when we were five fucking years old.”

“Okay, okay, okay!” Scott threw his hands up in defense. “I get it, I'll listen, I'll try to keep an open mind. But Stiles you can't compare stunts I've done like siding with the Argents or freaking not remembering my inhaler to killing people like he has. Are you surprised we're worried about you? It's not really like Peter has given us much to trust him on. What am I supposed to think when you say he was told to kill you to become Alpha? I know he would kill me to do it.”

“Yeah, well did he when he came to visit you?”

“No, but—“

“Did he when you realized you were the True Alpha?”

“No, but-“

“Has he or has he not laid one hand on you with the inclination to kill since he came back from the dead?”

“No, but Stiles, listen—“

“No, Scott. You just told me that you would listen to my side of the story, and that you would keep an open mind but apparently you're unwilling to do that. So I don't know why we're having this conversation. If you wanted to fix things, you would have closed your mouth and let me explain myself, and maybe you would have at least trusted me and understood where I was coming from, but you're not ready to do that.”

“Can you blame me?” Scott looked panicked, and Stiles half expected the boy to have an asthma attack. Just like old times. Stiles took in a breath to calm down.

“At the moment, yeah. Look, we've trusted a lot more shady people than Peter. As you said, you sided with Gerard. Gerard, Scott. And maybe it was to try and help or whatever, but did you forget that Gerard gave permission--allowed Kate to trap upward of thirty people in a house and _set it on fire_? Peter kills, what, four people to make up for _his own loss_ , and you think he's a monster, when he had done nothing but help and make sassy jokes since? Yes. Okay. He can be manipulative, but guess what? I can too. I can also be merciless, and immoral, and Peter is the first person I have protected by taking something's life that hasn't made me wish that I had died instead because of how guilty I feel afterward. He actually makes me feel like I am helping people, and doesn’t remind me of every tough decision I have had to make to do it. So please, Scott, tell me how you are in the right here.”

When Scott didn't say anything, just looked down indignantly at the floor, Stiles finally took a breath and calmed down. “Look, I'm sorry,” he continued. “But he's a part of my life. A big part, and I don't think I would have gotten through the first year at school without him. So yeah, I am furious with him, but you are all thinking that this situation involves any of you, and it really doesn't. You cut me off after I went to school because you were too mad at me for leaving without your permission I so obviously needed, and Peter had done a really good job not only protecting me but teaching me to fight for myself since. I shouldn’t be even having this conversation with you, but I'm giving you a chance to let me tell you what's happened, and let you in on the big secret, if you'll just listen to me.”

Scott kept staring at the floor, his jaw clenched, and he was probably pissed that Stiles yelled at him, but whatever Stiles didn't regret it. At least Scott finally nodded, slowly brought his gaze to meet Stiles'. “Okay. I'll listen.”

Stiles started from the beginning. He started with the magic book he found randomly in his room, with the meeting in the bookstore. He explained his time with Jaylen and Thomas, and how he and Peter even got started on spending so much time together. He told Scott about the bugs, about Peter helping him, and about him helping Peter. He told Scott about the magic, the trials that he went through just to learn the very basic of spells, and explained how far he'd come since then. He told Scott about Lamia, about how Peter had saved him from that too, at risk of his own life, and even how Stiles had killed her. Mercilessly stopping time. He filled Scott in on what they had been doing since, but left out key details, like how often they touched, or that Stiles slept in Peter's bed, or that Stiles actually was kind of in love or whatever.

Stuff Scott didn't need to know.

And when he was finished, ending with Mizuki's training, Peter's appearance, the creature, and how Peter looked just as shocked as he had, Stiles simply shrugged and didn't look at his friend. “I mean, I don't remember much of it. I just remember waking up at Peter's. Mizuki took care of me, but Peter didn't leave my side the whole three days.”

Scott didn't say anything at first, just sat there staring at Stiles, his mouth slightly open like he couldn't believe Peter had actually grown so close to something living. Or maybe he couldn't believe that Stiles actually cared. “So...what did he do in that time? Like, what did you both do while you were healing?”

Stiles finally looked up at his friend. He’d fallen a little bit more in love, that's what he did, and he hated himself for it. He had woken up, holding Peter's hand several times. The wolf had worked to drain the pain from him, make sure Stiles was comfortable. Peter had been so terrified that Stiles wasn't even going to make it through the night. They had been exhausted, and vulnerable, and hurt. But Stiles couldn't explain this. So what did they do? With tired eyes, tired minds, tired souls:

“We slept,” Stiles answered, shrugging his shoulder gently. “I was asleep most of the time, and Peter, I don't actually think he slept at all until he passed out. That's when I left. He didn't really have time to do anything. But Scott, he did everything he could to make up for the mistake, and I don’t doubt he’ll try to do more.”

Again, Scott was quiet. He got this look across his face like he wanted to say something, but feared actually saying it. He leaned closer, conspiratorially, and whispered, “it almost, Stiles, does Peter _like_ you?”

The question was hilarious, as was the way Scott asked it, but Stiles couldn't laugh. He stared at Scott with wide eyes, lips parted before he quickly shook his head. His heart was racing, oh God, his heart was racing. Please let his friend be just as oblivious as before. “No, no, no way man. Totally not that, I mean, I think he just missing having a pack or something. You know sometimes wolves in the wild will like, take care of their wounded? Stuff like that...yeah, so. I don’t think he likes me, or likes liking me, or likes me the liking you think he likes me, but like, I think its liking like wolves liking pack not liking like the liking of really liking, like just likes me normal like liking.”

While he didn't seem fully convinced, Scott did nod, confusion equally filling his features (because what?), then awkwardly shifted in his seat.

“So, do you believe me now?” Stiles asked at last, holding out his fist for Scott to bump it.

Goal achieved. His brother lifted his fist and gently bumped it into Stiles'. “I mean, I still have to think it over, but I guess he isn't really pulling any mastermind stunts. Still not okay with him using you though.”

“And I fully respect that. I'm not okay with it either, but he's mine to handle, not yours, and certainly not my dad's. Okay? I’m not going to let this go, you know me, I’m not like that. But I’m also not going to get out the pitchforks because of a mistake.”

“Okay,” Scott finally answered, a small smile on his lips.

“Good, now,” Stiles said, stretching out his arms. “If you don't get over here and hug me and work with me on putting this stupid fight thing behind us, I am fairly certain Lydia will castrate the both of us, and I don't know about you, but I am still very attached to Little Stiles, and don't really want him going anywhere soon while he hasn’t even reached his full potential.”

Scott's grin only grew, and the werewolf got up, wrapped his arms around Stiles and hugged him tightly. Stiles hissed, winced at the pain, and Scott jerked back, fear immediately filling his eyes. “Oh no! Stiles, I'm so sorry, I forgot!”

Stiles grinned, waved his Alpha off. “It's cool, Scotty.” Just like old times.

***

When Stiles finally got out of the hospital, finally got to his home, finally charged his phone, he was too scared to look at it at first. He threw it down on his bed and went to sit on the couch and watch TV instead. He didn't hear any of the buzzing from any incoming messages or missed phone calls.

It took him four hours before he actually trudged upstairs to dare a look. He wasn't even sure what he was nervous about. What? Would he see that Peter never messaged him? Didn't care that he left? Would Peter admit he really had been planning on killing Stiles but had wanted to get rid of the seer first? Just what? What was he so anxious about?

Mostly the whole no message thing. Yeah.

Except, when he picked up his phone, he had twenty-five missed messages, and nine phone calls. And okay, most of the messages were from Jaylen and Thomas. A couple were from Mizuki. Most of the calls were from them too, just wondering where he went, freaking out a bit. Okay, Thomas was the only one freaking out. But still, there were five messages from Peter.

“I’m assuming you went back to Beacon Hills?”

“I truly hope you're not dead.”

“If you went home, I understand, but you need to let me know you're alright. Take as much time as you need there but I also need to know you’re alright.”

“Stiles, I'm sorry.”

“Please message me back.”

Each message made his heart ache, and half of him couldn't believe that Peter apologized and said please. These were messages he needed to save for a million years. There were even two calls from Peter, one from the previous night, and one from earlier that morning.

So he did care...and he was totally cool with Stiles taking time to sort things out.

Which Stiles needed.

Stiles sent a reply back. “I'm alive, I'm in Beacon Hills. I'm sorry I left; I just need to sort things out, okay? We'll text.”

The response came immediately: “Thank God. That's fine. I am aware I’ve made a mistake, I will admit to it.” And then another message shortly after: “I'll be around. I'm glad you're safe.”

Stiles took in a breath, held the phone on his chest, felt his heartbeat below his ribs. Yeah, crazy messed up. The most messed up. But he wouldn't really have his life any other way, right? Nothing could ever make him feel as exhilarated as Peter did, danger and all.

***

Sheriff Stilinski wanted Stiles to stay home for the summer. The boy agreed to time off, but he definitely didn't think the whole summer would work. He wasn't even allowed to go and get all his clothes on his own. His dad came with him and remained by his side the entire time they were at the university. It kind of sucked, like being on house arrest for something he didn't do.

At least he and Peter texted, usually once every day, if not more. They even spared time for a few awkward phone calls, but they both knew no real words could be said until they were face to face at last.

The sting of betrayal disappeared, and Stiles was simply left wanting, aching. How could he go from spending every day with a person to nothing at all? He felt home sick for the stupidly clean apartment. He felt home sick for Peter (gross).

But he knew he would be back, and he knew that everything would work out.

At least he thought so until Peter stopped responded altogether one day. In fact, he apparently dropped off the face of the planet. Mizuki said the wolf's apartment went untouched, but with everything still in it, that she went over one day to check on him and no one answered. No one answered the next day either. Or the next, when she stayed for a few hours.

Stiles was miles away from even starting to look for him, and Peter was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Book III.


End file.
